Prurience
by This is your Heichou speaking
Summary: My attempts at smut, because I'm a newbie and I need practice. Slash, explicit, Harry-centric.
1. Playful

**Playful**

Words: 2,061  
Pairing: Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter  
Beta: None  
Warnings: Sex. Also, cringy lines?

* * *

He was lounging in the living room when Cedric came home, heavy footsteps on the wooden flooring outside. He didn't move from where he lay on his stomach reading, though his mind was definitely no longer focused on the words he read. The sunlight streaming in through the window was warm on his back, and he felt relaxed and lazy on the rug in front of the fireplace.

Unbidden, he remembered fleetingly the numerous times his husband had made love to him here, on this incredibly comfortable rug, and suddenly he was very, very aroused. He moaned slightly, and then Cedric was coming in, lying down straight across his back and he was so _close_ , the heavy weight of him crowding Harry against the floor. Cedric smelt like sunlight and summer breeze and flowers, and Harry wanted him so very much.

"Hey." His voice was deep and Harry could feel how the broad chest rumbled against his shoulder blades.

"Hey," he replied, arching his back a little. He looked teasingly over his shoulder, straight into warm, amused eyes. "How was your trip to the great outdoors?"

Cedric groaned, and laughed lowly. "Bought you your snacks, love." His hands, rough with calluses from quidditch, ran down Harry's bare arms, making him shiver slightly.

"My hero," Harry told him as Cedric covered the smaller man's hands with his own, loosening his grip on the book he'd been reading, and fluttered his eyelashes at him provocatively. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"Live a snack-less life?"

"Exactly," Harry told him, turning his hands to entwine their fingers. "Probably a miserably sexless life too."

Cedric growled playfully, nipping at his ear. "So that's all you keep me around for, huh. Snacks and sex." He shook his head in mock lament. "Should've known." And with that, he pressed his crotch hard against Harry's behind.

"Oh." He arched his back higher, pushing his butt against him. "Come on then," he laughed, pulling one of Cedric's hands down to his waistband.

"Eager." And then his fingers were slipping in and wrapping around Harry's cock, warm and heavy and hot and Harry stuttered for a while, not knowing whether to push back or forwards. Cedric sorted that out for him, turning him around faster than he could blink and pushing his shirt up as far as it could go without actually coming off. He immediately took one of Harry's nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it at that specific angle that was guaranteed to make Harry lose it. And lose it he did.

Harry sighed happily, tangling one hand into Cedric's hair and wrapping his legs around his husband's chest. He panted, still pushing into Cedric's hand, and then pulled on his hair to get attention.

"Hmm?" Cedric looked up and smirked at Harry, but didn't stop the constant movement of his hand on Harry's erection.

"The other one's lonely." Harry said seriously, making Cedric laugh and kiss him again, tongue licking the roof of Harry's mouth.

"Is it now?" he teased, yanking down Harry's trousers, but before he could do any more his husband sat up and pulled at his t-shirt.

"We both have to be naked," the younger man stated, moving onto Cedric's trousers, then looked up and waggled his eyebrows at him. "No underwear, huh? How kinky."

Cedric opened his mouth to reply, but then Harry was mouthing at his cock and swallowing it in, the muscles of his throat massaging sensitive skin and he all but lost the capability of speech. He could only watch, mouth open and moans spilling out freely as Harry watched him come undone with playfully sparkling eyes.

And when he was nearly there, right on that edge, Harry moved off so suddenly that even the warm afternoon air felt like a cold slap on his wet dick. He kissed the tip a few times, licking at the slit gently in apology and then stood and divested himself fully of his trousers, taking off his shirt and tossing it on the ever-growing pile of clothing as he turned and sauntered away.

Cedric whistled at him appreciatively. "Look at that arse!" he cheered, laughing when Harry turned to wink saucily and blow him a kiss. "Hate to watch you leave but damn Harry, I looove to watch you go." It was cheesy and cringy, but it got Harry laughing in that beautiful way that he did when he didn't care what he looked like, all squinty eyes and red cheeks, so who really cared?

Groaning as Harry disappeared through the doorway, he collapsed onto his back and wrapped his hand around his straining erection, tugging on it slowly as he imagined that laugh, sunny and carefree, and those eyes looking at him, bright with joy as swollen red lips wrapped around his cock just as they had a mere minute or so ago. He was so immersed in his fantasy he didn't notice when Harry came back until the man pulled his hand away and promptly straddled him, grinding against him with a roll of his hips that had Cedric seeing stars.

"Oh Merlin!" he gasped, and Harry grinned impishly.

"Harry will do, dear," he replied cockily, and when Cedric opened his eyes Harry opened the little tube in his hand with a tiny click, looking into his eyes and at his lips all sultry as he poured a liberal amount of lube over his fingers.

"Bet you wish these were _your_ fingers," he whispered, eyes dark, as he reached back and inserted his wet fingers into his arse, arching his back where he sat on Cedric's lap. And Cedric could see absolutely _everything_ , the sunlight making Harry's skin glow gold and highlighting the slightest shadows so that Harry's dusky rose nipples stood out in almost sharp contrast, all pointy and tense. He could see his adorable, shadowed belly button and his pretty pink cock, standing erect amongst black, curly hair and Cedric wanted so badly to lick him all over, to kiss every inch of his incredibly attractive body, but instead he grinned mischievously and bucked his hips up, pushing Harry's fingers further into his arse.

"Bet _you_ wish these were my _dick_ ," he commented and Harry moaned in agreement. He glared playfully when Cedric smiled smugly in turn, turning his nose up.

"Well, I suppose it's passable." He replied, sniffing, and then, just as spontaneously removed his fingers and sunk down onto Cedric's erection. His breath escaped him in a giant 'whoosh' as he was suddenly surrounded by the clenching muscles of Harry's arse, and he gripped onto his husband's hips to steady him so he didn't come too soon.

"You minx!" he growled. Harry just grinned, completely unapologetic as he pushed himself up and then let himself fall back down, impaling himself repeatedly. He moaned loudly, one hand on Cedric's chest for leverage and the other reaching up to play with his nipples as he took his own pleasure from his lover. Harry was so beautiful and erotic in that moment, taking control like that, that Cedric thought he could watch him forever, lost in the pleasure that the younger man took, unrepentantly, from him.

"You're so sexy, Harry, so hot. I wonder what I did to ever deserve you," he gasped as Harry repeatedly fucked himself on his cock, and he couldn't stop his hands from wandering the feast laid out in front of him, a wide expanse of smooth skin just waiting for him to explore it.

"I wonder the same thing," Harry teased, and then laughed when Cedric grumbled at him mock aggressively and ran his fingers down Harry's sensitive sides.

"Not there, Ced, that tickles!" he gasped, but Cedric didn't let up as he turned suddenly, trapping his lover beneath him. Harry's cheeks were flushed in laughter and arousal, his legs spread wide in desire and invitation.

"My turn, no?" Cedric asked, running a quick finger down the bridge of his nose to the tip.

Harry smiled widely and bucked violently, turning them over again. "Nu-uh!" he gloated, sticking his tongue out, and Cedric leaned up before he could blink and took the soft pink muscle into his own mouth, sucking hard.

Harry's eyes closed and he seemed dazed enough to forget where he was for a second, so Cedric took the initiative and once again rolled them over, never once letting himself slip out of the warmth of Harry's arse.

"Yeah," he said. "Definitely my turn." And saying so, he gave one sharp thrust right into Harry's prostate.

The reaction was immediate - Harry almost screamed as his toes curled in pleasure, and then he was pulling Cedric's hair as he demanded to be fucked properly.

And who was he to deny his beautiful husband?

He took a firm hold on Harry's hips and pushed in hard, fucking Harry hard enough to make him see stars, and he didn't stop. His pace was fast and unrelenting, and he pushed in hard enough that Harry could barely breathe - so that he could merely lay there and _take_ it.

"Oh, oh, faster," his pretty husband moaned, completely letting go of any inhibitions and shame. "Harder, fuck me harder!"

Cedric groaned and sped up even more, gripping Harry's hips so hard they would be sure to bruise tomorrow. Neither of them cared, as lost in their pleasure as they were. He was sweating, and Harry's skin looked to be just as damp with exertion and warmth, glistening as it was in the sunlight. He leant down hungrily, biting hard into Harry's neck, and the man practically _screamed_ , spreading his legs ever wider and pushing up hard.

" _Please_!" he begged, hands scrabbling for purchase along Cedric's naked back. "Give it to me, give me all of it."

He huffed desperately, and pulled out. Harry moaned at the loss, but before he could blink Cedric had him on his knees, face pushed into the carpet and hips up as far as they could go. He practically sobbed when Cedric rammed his cock up inside his arse again, hitting his prostate effortlessly in this position.

"Fuck me properly, you bastard!" He shouted, trying to goad Cedric, and it worked because all of a sudden Harry had to hold onto the rug due to how hard he was being fucked, lest he slide along with every thrust. His husband was both pushing his hips into him and pulling Harry repeatedly on and off his cock, causing him to jerk back and forth as he was used for both of their pleasure.

"Touch me, Cedric. Touch me, please." Harry moaned, but he moved his own hand down as he said so, too impatient. Cedric laughed huskily, sending shivers up his spine, and moved his own hand down to grasp the smooth red erection between his lover's widely spread thighs, guiding Harry's hand in jerking himself off.

"Ungh..." His hand moved in time with Cedric's thrusts into his willingly pliant body, and then he was coming onto the rug beneath him, jerking and clenching around Cedric's sex inside his anus as he emptied himself out over the carpet.

Cedric groaned as he started fucking his cock into Harry in deeper, harder strokes, chasing his own orgasm, and Harry let him, moaning at the constant movement into his over-sensitive body.

He snapped his hips harder, panting as he pulled one of Harry's thighs up to give him more space, and finally came violently inside his hole, filling him with his seed. He kept up a slow, smooth rotation of his hips as he worked through his orgasm, stimulating Harry to make him feel as if he was still in orgasm the whole way through, before he collapsed onto the smaller body beneath him.

He snuggled his face into the crook of Harry's nape, licking and sucking softly as Harry's breathing calmed. Their bodies were warm and damp against each other, and they knew that, when they'd cooled down, it'd feel gross. But for now Harry felt sated where he was, and when Cedric made to pull out he reached back and gripped his buttock, pushing him back in. There was something about feeling so full after sex that made Harry feel wonderful, so Cedric didn't say anything and stayed where he was, enjoying his afterglow in the arms of his lover.


	2. Full

**Full**

Words: 2,156

Pairing: Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter

Beta: None

Warnings: Filth. This is pure dirty smut.

* * *

He lay on his back, panting with exertion and overstimulation. He felt so full, so sore, but Fenrir was still looking at him with that leer on his face that said he wanted to fuck, his eyes trailing up and down the shape of his debauched frame, so Harry knew they weren't done.

Not nearly.

"Please," he moaned. His voice was breathy, his throat hoarse from screaming for hours and hours on end. Fenrir grinned at the sound as if he was proud of causing it, smile positively feral as he walked closer and grabbed Harry by the thighs. His hands were large enough to wrap almost the whole way around, and his grip strong enough to leave visible bruises, if the skin there hadn't already been painted blue and black. He pulled Harry's hips up so he could drag his lover's butt onto his lap.

Almost tenderly, he pressed two fingers down against Harry's stomach, laughing when Harry shuddered and whined uncontrollably. He was so full of come he could feel it pressing everywhere, so full that he could see the soft bump it made under the skin of his stomach, and could feel the weight of it against his organs.

"Beautiful," the werewolf whispered almost reverently. "So pretty and helpless." He chuckled, pressing harder until Harry's eyes watered with the intense stimulation.

He leaned down and kissed Harry's stomach softly, keeping his lips there for a long time and licking occasionally at the salt of his cooling, stretched skin. "You almost look pregnant, kitty."

Harry whined again, trying to pull away and gain any sort of release. "Please," he moaned again, but even _he_ didn't know what he was really asking for.

Fenrir shushed him, pulling Harry closer onto him until his heavy, hard cock lay between the younger man's buttocks and right against the swollen red rim. "Maybe you _are_ pregnant," he continued as if Harry hadn't said a thing, pushing his hips up in small, slow circles. "You'd have to be, by now."

"Fenrir, _please_ ," Harry cried out, too tired to move, too tired to do anything except lay there and take it. Fenrir leant down and kissed his nose gently, and then suddenly grabbed his hair to pull his head back so harshly that Harry cried out in shock. Fenrir leaned in, taking advantage and plundering his mouth and Harry just let him, sucking at the tongue between his lips like a child at his mother's nipple, or like a vampire at his victim's neck.

"Please what, kitten? Want me to make _sure_ you're pregnant?" He pushed his hips up a little harder, the tip of his cock catching teasingly against the reddened entrance of Harry's arse. "I'll make sure, sweetheart."

He grabbed Harry's arse and pulled it up, carefully positioning it and then lowering his arsehole, ever so slowly, onto his waiting erection. He watched every inch disappear into Harry's body, not speeding up or slowing down even as Harry's cries increased in volume until the man was practically sobbing in pain and desperation.

"Shush, kitten," Fenrir cooed, not once looking away until Harry had taken all of him in. Harry was warm and wet and so, so full, and Fenrir could feel the come he'd left there throughout the day wrapped around his cock and moving deep inside Harry's body. Marking him like nothing else could.

"My pretty kitty," he laughed, and Harry practically mewled at him in response. He kept his hold on Harry's hips, his hands wide enough that his fingers gripped onto Harry's buttocks, and he pushed, fucking into his little lover.

"Is that good, sweetheart? Is that what you wanted?" he asked, thrusting harder and harder, and Harry couldn't even make any sounds by now, soundlessly crying and panting as the feeling of being fucked yet _again_ became too much to handle.

"What was that?" he asked mockingly when Harry made grabby hands at him. "You want it harder?"

Harry's eyes became even wider, the mix of intense fear and lust nothing but the most potent aphrodisiac to Fenrir. His little kitten was honest to God crying now as he stared up at his lover, and Fenrir could tell he didn't even know if he wanted more or wanted it to stop. All he knew was that Fenrir was ruining him, _had_ ruined him, and it was so good he didn't know how to live with it, and didn't think he could live without.

Fenrir just laughed at the utter hopelessness in his eyes, the pain and incredible pleasure and reluctant, shameless want. "Who am I to say no to you, kitten?" he said huskily, and then he was fucking into Harry with earnest, so hard that there was come leaking out even with Fenrir's sizable cock blocking the way, and it was so good Harry thought he'd pass out.

He didn't, and instead bore witness to the utter filth that spewed from his lover's lips.

"Like that, do you?" he was saying, groaning in pleasure and desperation. "Want my cock, don't you? You looked so pretty I couldn't resist, look so full it's like you're carrying my child. Is that what you want, kitten? Did you want my seed so far in you that _everyone_ could see who you belong to?"

Harry gasped, panting and reaching as if yes, that's _exactly_ what he wanted, and Fenrir laughed dark and low and delicious in response.

"You'd be so pretty," he grumbled, and Harry could feel the vibrations of his voice in his own body, keened at the feeling of it. "Full of my cock, full of my child. I bet your chest would be swollen full, wouldn't it? I bet you'd cry for me to suck on them. Is that what you want, kitty? Do you want me to suck your pretty little titties dry until you cry?"

Harry moaned desperately, clawing at the air, too lost even to lift his own arms, and he came like that, with his alpha fucking into him and filling him up so full he could _see_ the head of it moving under his skin.

Fenrir didn't even pause, just kept on fucking him until Harry was shaking as if he was been electrocuted, until his legs were so wide Fenrir could see every inch of his wet dick being pumped into Harry's inviting pink arsehole, and then Fenrir was coming too, head thrown back in ecstasy as he pumped Harry full of the latest round of his seed.

He fucked Harry even through his own orgasm, and then stayed in there as they both regained their bearings.

He looked down lazily, and Harry looked so completely lost he didn't seem to be aware of where he was anymore, dark eyes glazed in pleasure and overstimulation as Fenrir's cock kept him plugged full to the brim.

"Had enough yet, kitten?" he asked. Harry could do no more than blink.


	3. Tentacles

**Tentacles**

Words: 1,554

Pairing: Giant Squid/Harry Potter

Beta: None

Warnings: I have no idea where this came from, and I have nothing to say except I might have a slight thing for tentacles? Also I suppose I should warn for bestiality...

* * *

In hindsight, perhaps he should've been careful considering the things he knew lived in the lake, but the this wasn't the first time he'd decided to take a dip, and he wasn't the only person to have ever swam in the lake either.

And maybe it had a little to do with how he hadn't been wearing _anything_ , whereas usually the students would at least wear trunks or underwear, but the castle had been literally empty of anyone and everyone, this being during the summer, and he'd just thought it wouldn't really matter.

It mattered.

There were certain things about Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that were just accepted, and the giant squid that lived in the lake was one of them. It had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and though nobody had really seen the whole squid, ever, it was pretty playful and friendly.

And then Harry, stupid Harry, had decided to get into the lake naked as the day he was born.

In his defence, who knew the squid had a taste for human bodies? He certainly hadn't expected that, and if it was common knowledge then it was very carefully guarded common knowledge. As in, guarded enough that he'd missed the memo.

He hadn't even realised what was happening at first. He'd felt something slimy brush against his shin and supposed that it was a bit of seaweed, or the occasional flittering fish. And then something had wrapped around his ankle and twisted up and up until it was at his thigh, and Harry began to panic.

He'd tried to free his leg, pulling on it, and reached down to try and pull whatever was trapping him away from his leg, but then there was something equally wet and slippery wrapping around his wrists and pulling them up, and yeah, that wasn't seaweed.

That's where he was now, looking up through the soaked hair in his face and realising that he was, in fact, being captured by tentacles. Which really meant only one thing.

He was being attacked by the giant squid.

He tried to calm himself down, figure a way out of this situation but there was water in his face and his mouth and he could barely concentrate on breathing, never mind fighting off a giant creature with multiple limbs.

He wasn't sure what would happen now. Would the squid kill him? Eat him? Did the squid even eat people? The scenarios flashing through his mind got worse and worse the more he thought, but even so he hadn't expected this.

The tentacles holding his arms pulled him up until his toes barely touched the surface of the lake, and then another tentacle was wrapping around his waist and slithering up towards his chest. Harry started hyperventilating, wondering if it would choke him, if they'd find his dead body on the shore, but then the tentacle did the oddest thing.

It flicked his nipple.

Harry froze, completely stopping any struggles as he stared, wide-eyed, at the pink appendage resting on his chest, when it did it again. And again, and then the other one, as Harry's breathing started to quicken not with panic, but _arousal_.

He whined, low and deep in his throat, as he pulled at his wrists again. This was so not okay. Harry was by no means an innocent virgin - in fact, he'd been _very_ open, in his so far short trip through the wonders of carnal pleasures, to the many new and exciting ideas out there. So far he'd even found more than a few 'uncommon' kinks of his own, but this took the biscuit.

" _No!_ " he hissed at himself, glaring down at his traitorous erection, but when the tentacle around his thigh reached up to wrap around his cock, he knew there would be no going back.

Still, he made a valiant attempt at denial, trying to tell himself that it was _bestiality_ , honestly, and that there were limits he really shouldn't be crossing, but then the tentacle on his chest was forcing its way into his mouth and wow, it didn't taste as horrible as he'd feared. It was slippery and wet, but then again so were ice lollies. It wasn't sweet or bitter, though perhaps a little salty, and he sucked on it experimentally, only to gag when the appendage suddenly thrust further down his throat. It did this a few more times, Harry trying his best to deal with it as he would a cock, and then he realised he was feeling surprisingly warm.

It wasn't strange, considering he was very aroused. What _was_ strange was the way his mind clouded with lust, and the way he suddenly felt his arsehole dripping slick.

He moaned breathily, pushing his chest out in search for stimulation and yelling when he got it. ' _It must've been some kind of aphrodisiac,_ ' he thought to himself, but who really cared now? All he wanted was to chase his orgasm, to get what the squid was offering, and spare no thought to the opinions people might have if they found out.

He rubbed his thighs together wantonly, the skin slipping against each other with the slick he was dripping, and his arse clenched in need. He'd really, _really_ like to be fucked right about now.

The squid must've been a mind reader, because as soon as he thought this his legs were both pulled wide, and the tip of a tentacle was poking at his hole.

He moaned, and wiggled to get more of it to touch him there, but it withdrew. He groaned, annoyed, and the tentacle came closer again, poking harder. He bucked his hips impatiently as all he got were light touches and tentative pushes, trying to make it clear what he wanted. There was a tentacle still in his mouth, and he sucked harder on it to encourage the squid.

It didn't work.

There were multiple tentacles at his arsehole now, each sliding just the tip on and stretching him out a little, and then a little more, until he could practically feel the breeze brush against his insides but still he wasn't fucked, just held open wide as he could go. He clenched down on empty space and _whined_ for it.

And then he gasped, all the breath pushed out of him in one whoosh as a huge appendage rammed in, deep as it could go. And boy did it go deep. Harry gasped again, trying to catch his breath, as it slid out then back in, just as deep, and at a good pace. He could feel it brush against his prostate almost constantly, pushing in until it couldn't anymore without hurting him, and never slowing down.

It was so _good_.

He sucked on the tentacle in his mouth like it was air, pulling his legs even wider apart. The squid seems to take the hint, and pulled them out even tighter. There were still tentacles holding his arse open for the main one, tickling deliciously at the rim, and his nipples were flicked hard every so often at an irregular rate.

He felt like he'd go crazy with all the stimulation.

When he came, it snuck up on him. One second he was enjoying the sensation of being fucked, and the next he was coming with a muffled cry, his whole body seizing up and shuddering violently with the strength of his orgasm.

He felt limp after, and moaned as the tentacles only slowed down and never stopped. He hissed, or tried to, at the overstimulation of his body, but didn't attempt to stop the feeling, instead offering up all control to the huge cephalopod.

Not that he hadn't already.

But the squid never stopped moving inside his body. Instead the tentacle at his chest wrapped around his waist and pulled it up, up until Harry was essentially on all fours in mid-air.

It let him hang there a while, fucking him slowly and gently before tightening around his legs suddenly. The tentacle in his arse moved out until there was barely just the tip touching the rim and then slammed back in so fast it sent Harry reeling. There was nothing holding his arse open now, just a huge limb ramming in and oh, Harry could not even think for it was so fast.

He _did_ feel it building this time, as a tentacle once more joined in on the fun and wrapped around his cock again, and practically screamed it out around the semi-permanent fixture in his mouth.

It slid out, along with the one in his mouth, when Harry finally relaxed again, and left him both exhausted and sated.

The tentacles let him down slowly, leaving faint sucker marks where they'd touched him, and depositing him in the water just a few yards from the edge of the lake.

He washed himself clean of his own come and sweat lazily, stretching luxuriously while he was at it.

This had certainly been a strange experience, and he wasn't quite sure how he'd felt about it. But it had also been pretty... fun. He didn't think he'd do it again, but he so didn't think he'd regret this.

Though, of course, this afternoon would stay a secret between him and the giant squid.


	4. Purely Filthy

**Purely Filthy**

Words: 1,958  
Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Harry Potter  
Beta: None.  
Warnings: Strong Daddy kink here, though they're definitely both over the age of consent.

* * *

He entered the house as quietly as he could, taking in the dark hallway and the absolute silence.

Harry must've fallen asleep.

When he entered the living room, there he was, slumbering on the leather couch. The curtains were still pulled back, the moonlight making Harry seem like his skin was glowing white, and he was dressed in a sheer white nightgown. There was a candle next to him that had burned out long ago - it was cold by now. Charlie smiled fondly and walked further into the room, freezing when his little boy let out a small moan and turned onto his back.

His breath caught in his throat as Harry's arm moved back, and suddenly he was assaulted with the sight of Harry looking both helplessly innocent and incredibly tantalising. The material of his gown was thin enough that Charlie could see the little pink mounds of his nipples through it, and he knew that if the blanket hadn't been covering Harry's lower half, he would probably be treated to a sight of his underwear too.

' _Or his cock_ ,' he thought, and immediately found himself hardening at the thought.

Harry looked so pretty and sweet, lying there completely unsuspecting, and Charlie felt incredibly large in comparison as he stalked forwards to stand over him, covered in dirt and sweat and mud from working with his dragons all day. He reached forwards and trailed a finger from a bare shoulder down the arm, leaving goose bumps in his wake, and the difference between them - the cleanliness and scent of soft soap where Charlie smelled exactly like the Dragon Tamer he was - made him want to see more of it. It made him want to strip Harry bare, to touch him and breathe him in and leave marks wherever his hands caressed, to leave Harry smelling like him, like sweat and dirt, and know that _he'd_ caused it. That he'd tainted his little love, and that Harry had let it happen.

He reached down and placed a soft kiss on his boy's pink lips, grinning when Harry sighed delicately and relaxed even further. He could take Harry now, prepare him and already be fucking him when Harry woke up, his sweet boy wouldn't mind. In fact, he'd probably love it if past experience was anything to go by, and he was already so, _so_ hard.

He sat beside Harry on the couch and reached for the blanket slowly, all the while undoing his fly. His erection was getting painful, trapped as it was, and even with his underwear in the way it felt a lot better now that his jeans were undone.

' _I was right_ ', he thought as he peeled back the blanket and stared. Harry wasn't wearing any underwear, and Charlie could see his cock through the sheer material, pink and half-hard. Suddenly, Harry's little moans were not sounds of sleep, but expressions of a rather enjoyable sort of dream.

Gently, he dragged a finger from the root of Harry's cock to the tip, still over the material, and revelled in the gentle moans his little lover released.

"Harry," he called, his voice quiet and husky, but Harry did no more than breathe gently.

"Harry," he said again, moving under the gown and placing a heavy hand on the boy's pale thigh. He moved to sit between the boy's legs, trailing the hand on Harry's thigh higher slowly and pulling the material up with his other hand as he did. Gently, he reached higher and higher until his hand was at Harry's hip, and then he moved it under the sleeping body. His other hand reached straight between Harry's legs, probing for the pink little hole that he wanted, and let out an involuntary groan when he found it wet and waiting for him.

" _Harry_ ," he groaned again, pushing a finger in just a little to check, just in case but yes, Harry was completely stretched and ready for Charlie to just come along and stick his cock into him.

"Is that what you wanted, sweet boy?" he asked rhetorically, and imagined Harry touching himself, getting himself ready with just _this_ in mind, _wanting_ Charlie to come and love him and make him _all his_ again, and it filled Charlie with such warm affection and heavy desire he could barely breathe.

He pulled Harry down by his hips and slid right home.

He paused there, clenching his fingers into Harry's soft, clean skin for fear of coming from the pure sensation, and reached up to cup Harry's cheek. His boy's eyelashes were fluttering, black and heavy on his eyelids, and leaving little shadows on his soft, flushed cheeks.

"Wake up, sweetheart," he said, planting a kiss on those pliant lips. "Don't you want to welcome me home?" And then he pushed hard into Harry's willing body once, twice, and Harry woke up with a gasp of surprise and pleasure.

"Daddy!" he moaned, eyes so very wide and green and so, so sweet, and reached his little hands up to hold Charlie's face. The older man reached up and kissed a palm fondly, taking a hold of the wrist and trailing kisses down to the elbow.

"Hello, baby boy. Did you miss me?" he asked, smirking as he gave another push of his hips, and Harry's hands clenched in the air as he moaned helplessly.

"I did, I did," he cried softly, thighs tightening around Charlie's hips. His eyes stared up at the larger man helplessly, eyes wet and adoring. "I waited for you, Daddy, you took so long."

Charlie cooed at him lovingly, nuzzling his cheek as his hands slid up under Harry's gown, groping up his waist to his chest where he flicked a nipple. He pushed up into Harry's arse and rested there, just savouring the feeling of Harry's muscles clenching around him spasmodically. "You did, didn't you. You're such a good boy."

He put a hand gently onto Harry's stomach, pushing down a little until he could feel the shape of his cock, and moved again, fucking gently into Harry's body and feeling the weight of it under his hand. "You're so pretty, baby. So good to me."

"I'm a good boy, Daddy, I've been good," the younger male replied eagerly, pushing himself further into the shape of Charlie's body, and Charlie's leaned down to mouth at Harry's chest, licking and sucking on his perky pink nipples.

His boy moaned and threaded his fingers through Charlie's red hair, pushing his chest into the hot mouth and arching his back as he did, and all the while Charlie pushed in and out of his soft body, fucking him slow but hard, every stroke purposeful and strong. Harry gasped with every one, toes clenching when Charlie hit his prostate and stayed there, pressing up against it and then back, again and again until Harry felt like he was lost in a sea of desire.

"Daddy," he gasped, pulling Charlie up and kissing him everywhere he could reach. "I love you so much, Daddy, don't stop." Charlie didn't answer, but groaned low in his throat and kissed his mouth hard enough to bruise. He buried his face into Harry's neck, kissing and sucking gently - just enough to leave a mark, but not enough to truly hurt - and Harry moaned at the rough slide of stubble on his shoulder. He turned his face and kissed Charlie's ear gently, and his daddy sped up.

He fucked Harry harder, pushing in hard enough to make Harry see stars, but though Harry neared his orgasm he couldn't quite reach it.

"Please, Daddy," he cried out, and Charlie laughed low in his throat, the dark sound sending shivers of attraction up Harry's spine.

"What do you want, love? What does my baby want from his daddy?"

Harry moaned again, trying to push Charlie's hand down to where his erection begged for stimulation, but his daddy wouldn't budge.

"Please," he begged again. "I need it Daddy, I need you." Charlie only laughed again, and Harry felt like crying because he _knew_.

Charlie would only touch him when he wanted to, and when he was in a more controlling mood - like he was now - he liked to make Harry cry for it. He liked to see Harry's eyes well up, liked to see fat tears break away from his eyes when he blinked and make his temples and cheeks wet until Harry couldn't breathe with the sobbing and just the thought of it made Harry's eyes water.

" _Please_ ," he gasped, one final attempt, but then Charlie was pulling out and turning him over and Harry's face was smushed into the pillows, his arse up in the air for his daddy.

Charlie's face was level with his baby's pink little hole, eyes staring straight at the most intimate part of him, and he was overcome with a sudden rush of gratitude as he leaned down and planted a kiss right on top of it. "Just me, isn't that right sweetheart?" he murmured, and Harry sighed, leaning down further and spreading his legs a little more.

"Just you, Daddy," he whispered. "Because you're special."

Charlie laughed again. "I am, am I?" he asked, and then licked a long stripe right up the crack, tongue firm.

Harry cried out, fingers clenching into the pillows and pushing up further into his face. "Yes Daddy, yes!"

His taste was intoxicating. Charlie wanted to taste more, love more, take Harry and keep him for himself and never let anyone see him, never let anyone else set their eyes on him, lest they dare desire him like Charlie did, and he wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and buried his tongue in his hole.

He licked every crevice, pushing his tongue in and out and biting gently at the rim until Harry was crying with need, until his pretty, perfect cock was purple with the urge to burst, and Charlie's stubble had left red marks on the smooth skin of his arse. And only then, when Harry was whining incoherently, lost in a daze of pleasure did he finally give in and turn the boy onto his back, taking just the tip of his cock into his mouth and _sucking_ until Harry came with a scream.

His boy collapsed back down, looking up at him blearily as Charlie laid soft little kisses all along his soft, sweat coated skin. Harry groaned wordlessly, his gaze moving down from Charlie's warm eyes to his dark erection, and widened his legs again in silent offering.

"Are you sure, baby boy?" Charlie murmured, unsure if it would be too much, but Harry pushed his pelvis into Charlie's lap lazily in a silent answer.

His daddy grinned at him, eyes soft, and pushed back into his body inch by inch. This time, he moved slowly, gently, as if he was loving rather than fucking and the pure, unadulterated love in his eyes was just enough to make Harry want to give him everything, to offer up his heart and soul on a platter to this man who loved him and cared for him, all with the softest of smiles.

"Daddy," he whispered, reaching out to hold him again, stroking fingers across the angles of his cheeks and lips. Charlie leant down and panted his desire right into Harry's open, waiting mouth, and when his pretty baby kissed his nose and whispered "I love you," Charlie came into his open body.

He leant down and pushed his face into Harry's neck, laying down on top of him strategically so as to not crush the smaller boy, and whispered "I love you too" right into his ear as he fell asleep.


	5. Exhibition

**Exhibition**

Words: 2,612  
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter  
Beta: None  
Warnings: Public sex, as in they have a (possibly unwilling) audience. Absolutely shameless smut, and no plot to speak of.

* * *

The Slytherin common room had always seems to Harry a study in opposites. At first glance, it was a typical gloomy room in the dungeons, damp and dark and unfriendly. But unlike all the other rooms below the castle of Hogwarts, the common room was always comfortably warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. The decor might seem a little dark at first, but once your eyes adjusted it was actually pretty well-lit. It felt like it was separate from the outside world.

Harry liked sitting in the common room. He preferred it to the library, to the dorms, to the great hall, only because it had a kind of atmosphere he loved. A carefully structured atmosphere that was only born from a carefully structured hierarchy - the reason for which was sitting behind him, arm around his shoulder as he busied himself _holding court_ \- though of course he'd not refer to it as such if asked.

He burrowed a little closer into his lover's side, bowing his back to get under the shoulder, and was rewarded with a soft kiss to the top of his head. He smiled, and went back to his book. To the rest of the common room, Harry was reading a romance novel completely unashamedly. He could feel the exasperated glances, the amused whispers, and was glad for it. Every person here and in the rest of this school underestimated him and his skills and his intelligence except, of course, his beloved Tom. And that was the way Harry liked it best.

He went back to the description of a particularly violent dismembering curse, humming thoughtfully. Tom's fingers were tangled in the front of his robes, dancing up and down casually, and Harry laid his own on top without thought as he crinkled his nose in disgust, unimpressed.

Far too bloody.

He moved on to the next spell, and smiled in approval. Now _this_ was more his style - subtle, slow and undetectable, a spell only discovered when it was far too late, leaving a glass figure in its wake. He sighed and stroked a finger against his lover's, just as the boy's hand inched down to Harry's crotch and gave a teasing squeeze-

Harry gasped, his legs loosening from where they were loosely crossed almost automatically. He leaned back further, relaxing and Tom pushed his nose into Harry's hair softly, breathing in deeply.

He didn't stop the boy before him - Lestrange, it was - from continuing, and their classmate's voice took on an odd wobble as he tried to remain unaffected by the display before him. Tom's hand reached under his robe, deftly undoing the buttons on his trousers without looking away from Lestrange once. He said something just as his fingers wrapped around his half hard erection, and Harry gasped openly at the feel of those vibrations moving through him.

He turned his head, batting his lashes at Tom teasingly as he reached up and stroked a finger along his jaw. And what a pretty jaw it was, all smooth at sharp and elegant, perfect just like his Tom.

The older boy smirked down at him, eyes dark and dangerously soft, and Harry cupped his cheek in response and lifted up, trailing soft kisses up his neck and jawline, across his chin and nose and the apple of his cheeks and anywhere but Tom's mouth, all the while looking into dark eyes reverently.

Tom's hand was around his waist now and he yanked Harry up, moving him to rest back to front in his lap, legs spread over the budding Dark Lord's own thighs. His trousers were undone, his cock a smooth red and out in the open for anyone to see - not that anyone did. They all knew that Tom was no longer listening as pulled down Harry's unbuttoned shirt and licked and bit his way up the smooth, exposed shoulder, but they would pretend nothing was amiss. It was yet another power play, and one Harry enjoyed dearly. None of them would dare stop them - after all, all the younger years were safe and in bed, end their elders knew their place. Their comfort did not come before their Lord's pleasure.

And he basked in this - could see the awkward eyes deliberately aimed away, and the badly hidden glances of lust and fear and loved that his Tom was causing this. Loved that he had that _control_. And their lust and fear made sense, because Harry and Tom were nothing if not utterly beautiful, and it was well known that Harry belonged in his entirety to Tom.

The Dark Lord did not take well to others coveting what he owned.

Toms long fingers were now unbuttoning his robe and sliding clothing off his body, until Harry sat only in his plain black school robe, open at the front and hiked up to his waist. His shirt was loose enough to reveal his nipples, which dad perked up into stiff nubs in the cooler air. He lead his arms back to wrap around Tom's neck, luxuriating in the absolutely shameless display of his nude body, and turned his head to kiss Tom on the mouth for the first time.

And oh, what a kiss it was.

His lover licked deep into his mouth, every swipe of his tongue hard and purposeful as he tasted Harry, and the younger boy could only let him. Their tongues tangled and danced a filthy dance, and Harry knew there was spit running down his the side of his mouth but he didn't care. Tom was hard and firm against his back, his chest and arms perfectly muscled and strong as they held his waist and chin exactly where Tom wanted them.

And then Tom was biting at his lips hard enough to make them puffy and swollen. He moved his mouth down Harry's neck in slow, hard bites that Harry knew would leave marks for days and he loved it, loved that he'd be able to show them off afterwards and make the Slytherins avert their eyes and his brother swell up in righteous anger. He loved that he had that power over them, though they would not admit it even to themselves.

Lestrange had stopped taking, his voice breaking into hesitant words until he trailed off. His pupils were blown wide in lust, and yet still he looked anywhere but at Harry and the fingers that trailed delicately up his bare thigh.

He grinned wickedly and spread them wider, arching his back as he let out an exaggerated moan. Lestrange jumped, squeezing his eyes shut as if it was almost painful, and Tom laughed low into his ear.

"My pretty little snake, look at you," he whispered, pushing his hips up slowly into Harry's bottom, and even through the cloth Harry could feel the thick shape of his straining erection pressing against his trousers.

He laughed, so breathy it sounded more like a gasp, and pushed back. "Do you like showing me off like this, _my Lord_ ," he whispered back, but it was loud enough to be heard by those nearer to them. "Do you like me spread out before _everyone_ \- oh!"

He broke off as Tom growled low in his chest, and with a whispered spell slipped a lubricated finger into his arsehole. The older boy pushed it in as deep as if would go, pressing it hard against the walls of his arse and Harry moaned. "Harder," he said. "More."

"My pleasure." And with that, his Lord pushed another in, steadily pumping the two in and out at a regular pace. Harry sighed, relaxing his thighs and pushing his pelvis out. He rested his hands on his lover's arms, squeezing softly at the muscle there, and raised his eyes once more.

Malfoy was talking now, though Harry had failed to notice when he'd started. His eyes were fixed firmly on a spot over Tom's shoulder as he spoke, but there were bright pink blotches on his cheeks, and his hands trembled. Harry laughed again, stretching out his body and pushing down on Tom's fingers as he relished the knowledge that even the most uptight of men couldn't remain unaffected by his display. Tom pushed his nose into the crook between his shoulder and neck, biting softly as he slipped a hand under one of Harry's legs and lifted it up.

The boy gasped as the fingers in his arse disappeared and the distinct sound of a zipper being pushed down sounded through the room before Harry felt the blunt head of a cock at his entrance. He didn't move as Tom slid him down, letting his lover control the pace as he pushed into Harry's body in little thrusts, until - little by little - Harry was seated back on his lap and his cock. He stayed like that a while, letting Harry get used to the heavy weight of Tom inside him, letting him savour their intimacy and the knowledge that they were joined, the sensation of being deliciously stretched and of hearing all but one fragile voice fall silent.

And Malfoy's voice was surprisingly high now, wavering even as he clenched his fingers in want. Harry lost interest in him, however, as he set eyes on Macnair. The man sat somewhere off to the side, a book open in front of his face but Harry could see the gaze fixed on him and his body, and the hand massaging his groin over cloth, and he sneered at the sight.

Instead, he turned his head - never breaking eye contact with the arrogant eyesore as he kissed Tom's cheek over his shoulder. And Tom laughed, husky and low, and said, "I know, beloved," and then picked Harry up off his cock before slamming his back down, hard, before repeating.

Harry cried out, loud in the now silent room as he was pulled repeatedly off Tom's cock, only to be impaled again and again. Tom was so deep inside him, touching such parts of him that he couldn't himself, despite having tried before. He was so strong he had still not tired of moving Harry up and down his cock, even as his muscles trembled.

The younger boy started moving too, pushing himself up with his legs and back down and he moaned Tom's name desperately as the head of his cock nudged at his prostate. He clenched hard over the erection inside him several times, almost uncontrollable in his desire, and Tom laughed again.

"So desperate for me, my sweet," he whispered. Harry laughed, though it sounded closer to a gasp, and pushed down again hard. Tom was so deep inside him, his erection so heavy, and he kept hitting Harry's prostate hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make Harry lose his mind.

"You look so perfect like this," Tom was murmuring in his ear now, his fingers tight on his hips as he breathed in the scent of Harry's hair and his sweat and his sex, and loved the fact that he'd caused it.

"You're mine," he gasped, and Harry could feel how his lover was losing control now too, the vaguest hint of an impending orgasm in his voice and the slightest change in the rhythm of his hips. Harry burned at the thought of Tom coming inside him, filling him up with all of Slytherin house watching.

"So why are you letting him look?" Harry teased, and trailed a hand up his chest to flick at his own nipple. As he did, he moaned and pushed out his chest provocatively, and Tom growled at the display.

He tensed in a way that Harry _knew_ meant danger, and almost giggled at the image of his eyes flashing such a beautiful red as his face contorted in a vicious snarl. A brief pang of lament went through him at being deprived of such an erotic sight, but then Tom was pointing his wand straight at Macnair, who had foolishly decided that Tom was unaware of his actions and slipped a hand inside his trousers.

The boy barely had the chance to blink before he was howling in pain, clutching at his crotch as if his dick had been cut off. A few of the more fainthearted students looked at him in panic, but Tom's circle remained facing forward, their expressions fixed in place even as a few of them couldn't help but wince in sympathy. Harry shivered in the aura of dark magic that rose suddenly in response, the tendrils of Tom's magic brushing over his skin and making his pleasure heighten.

He teetered at the edge of his orgasm desperately, but then Tom laughed as if the pain of one of his little followers was truly _amusing_ , and Harry almost screamed with the need to just _come_.

"Please," he moaned, and he knew his face was pink with the exertion. "Please, oh _please_ Tom!"

And Tom grinned against the damp skin of his neck and said, "since you beg so prettily, my dear," and wrapped long, elegant fingers against his swollen erection.

Harry came almost before Tom had even completed the first stroke, arching his back and orgasming so violently he felt he could almost pass out. His muscles clamped down on Tom's cock, and even before Harry had finished Tom flooded his arse with his hot come, pushing into Harry slowly until he'd been wrung dry.

Harry panted as he came down from his high, opening his eyes to see that his stomach and the floor before him covered in his ejaculate. He blinked and his eyes landed on Malfoy, who sat right at the front. A particularly large glob had landed on his cheek, and the man looked stiff with both disgust and arousal.

Harry started laughing, but was abruptly cut off by Tom turning his head and kissing him deeply. He forgot all thought of Malfoy or anyone else then, losing himself in the dizzying taste of Tom's mouth as their bodies calmed and cooled. They kissed for a while, eyes closed and mouths moving against one another's in a way that belied their affection. This was how Harry knew Tom loved him, _adored_ him, and how Tom knew that Harry was absolutely besotted in turn. Who needed words, when Tom's mouth was on his and his cock was so deep inside him it felt like it would leave an imprint forever?

He smiled against Tom's lips, and then moved back with a loud smooch. Smoothly, he leant forward and, arching his back, pulled himself off Tom's cock slowly. The sound his movements made - the resounding _squelch_ of Tom's come inside him - was absolutely filthy, and Harry could feel the stir of Tom's cock as his lover's eyes fixed to the sight of his arse.

He knew what it probably looked like - Tom had described it to him so often, and he had such a dirty mouth that there was really no detail spared. Harry didn't really care except for that it drove Tom mad with lust for him though, so as he stood he made sure his lover got a good view of the way his arsehole dripped with come, the way the rim was red and stretched from the shape of Tom's cock, and straightened slowly.

He made a show of straightening his robes then, though there was really no point with no trousers and an unbuttoned shirt underneath. Looking back over his shoulder, he winked, and then sashayed his way to the stairs that led to the boys dorms.

His lover would follow soon enough.


	6. And You Want Him Too

**And You Want Him Too**

Words: 1,973  
Pairing: Tom Riddle Sr./Harry Potter  
Beta: None  
Warnings: None

* * *

" _Shh_ ," a hoarse voice hissed into Harry's ear. Strong fingers tightened on his thigh in warning as he gasped a little too loudly, but Harry could barely think through the haze of lust and pleasure that filled his head. Everything was hot, his body tingling with arousal all over until he was oversensitive everywhere. He knew he had to be quiet, knew that Tom was sitting just a bookshelf away. The slightest noise could break him from his reading stupor and lead his friend to investigate, but as Harry climbed higher and higher towards orgasm, he cared less about the consequences and more about the dick up his arse.

"Sir," he huffed out, readjusting his hold on the wall just a little. His shoulders and thighs ached, but Harry felt so warm and electrified that it mattered little. He shifted his foot to rest higher on the bookshelf, much to Mr. Riddle's apparent pleasure. The man fucked Harry slowly, each press of his hips a new gift. Harry could feel every inch of the shape of him as it slid inside him, could feel it straining against his insides and pressing right up against his prostate. It was a torturous pace - Harry ached for him to speed up, to send him hurtling towards the end, but at the same time he didn't want this to end too quickly, too easily. The dichotomy tore his mind down until he could barely speak, never mind think anything other than ' _so good, so fucking_ good.'

His lover flicked affectionately at his nipple, and the sharp twinge of his nail against his sensitive chest had Harry gasping. He whined a little, but before he could even register the sound he'd made Mr. Riddle's large hand covered his mouth, shutting him up properly. He closed his eyes, trying to push back so that he could feel more of that cock, of the strong arms half holding him up, of the breath on his nape that was just _this_ side of being a growl of frustration. He wanted to come like this, wanted to come all over the fancy carpet until it would leave a stain that would never come out just so that Mr. Riddle would remember fucking him like this every time he saw it. His skin was flushed red with his blood, but Harry felt cold at the same time. His skin felt overheated and yet Mr. Riddle's hands felt warm on his skin, so that Harry could tell where they rested on his body at all times.

He wanted this so much, had been _begging_ for this for so long. Tom had brought him here to introduce Harry to his family, as a 'friend', a possible lover. Harry knew this, and when he'd come here last summer he'd been shy, anticipating the relationship that might develop. But the senior Riddle was so much more mature, so much more forward, that Harry could only stare at him in unexpected desire. Because where Tom was inherently selfish, Mr. Riddle knew how to give him what he needed. Tom was still inexperienced, reluctant and arrogant all at once, but his _father_. Oh, the older man knew how to play his body like the devil played his goddamned golden fiddle.

Harry had thought it sweet - attractive, even _fantasised_ about Tom finally making a move on him. He'd imagined Tom taking him to bed in the dorm rooms and drawing the curtains around his neck, but what was teenage Tom Riddle next to his large, strong, and extremely _adult_ father? The man had taken one look at him and smirked like he already _knew_ Harry was going to end up in his bed, like he could see Harry with face flushed and thighs parted, inviting him between them without shame. Mr. Riddle had spent the rest of the holiday casually touching him, making filthy innuendos and stroking Harry's shoulders and touching his thighs under the dinner table until he was ready to burst.

So when his friend's father had snuck into his bedroom and slipped under his bedsheets, who was he to resist? When Mr. Riddle fucked him with Tom sleeping just next door, slow but sure, steady and hard, Harry could only ever have taken his cock like the hungry boy he was. He could only ever have pushed back, satisfied as his arousal was sated.

Except that now he couldn't get enough. It was like an addiction, an epidemic. Mr. Riddle only needed to _look_ at him and, like a conditioned pet, Harry would start to harden in desire. He needed to be fucked _all the time_ , and Mr. Riddle seemed all too willing to comply.

And now this, where Harry found himself being fucked with Tom sitting just a bookshelf away. If he pressed his face up against the shelf, he could see his classmate's face through the gaps between volumes of ' _The Encyclopaedia Britannica_ '. The teenage boy sat in his armchair, fully immersed in some book or another, his face half turned away. He looked so peaceful, so elegant - the very picture of an aristocratic heir, with his hair perfectly coiffed and his collar perfectly pressed.

He had no idea, Harry thought. No idea what was going on just a few metres away, had no idea that his own father was fucking his cock into his friend's arse in tight, controlled thrusts. He didn't know it now and he hadn't known it yesterday, when Harry had called off sick but had been on his knees for Mr. Riddle during dinner, or when Tom had gone to the bathroom for a quick shower and his father had bent Harry over to take his cock.

Harry wondered what would happen if he decided to find another book. He imagined Tom coming up to the very bookshelf and leaning down to get at the lower rows. He imagined him removing a volume, and being faced with Harry's hanging, desperate erection. What would he look like when he realised that his own father was fucking his intended lover? Would he walk away, angry, or would he perhaps lean down and kiss the head of Harry's erection? Would he suck on him, maybe slide a finger into Harry's twitching arse to lay alongside his father's cock as it moved in and out, in and out?

As he watched, half wishing for Tom to discover them, his classmate instead put down his book and stood, a faint frown on his face as he left through the open door. Mr. Riddle immediately grabbed Harry's hair and pushed his face down so that his arse stuck out. With the other, he took firm hold of his hip and started fucking him harder, deeper, until Harry was crying out with each push.

"Oh look at you, you little slut," Mr. Riddle whispered in his ear. "Even with as much dick you're getting, you're not happy. You'd like _him_ to fuck you too, wouldn't you." And he pulled out, pushing at Harry's shoulder until he lay on the thick carpet with his chest to the soft wool and his arse in the air. "You wanted him to find us, didn't you," Mr. Riddle hissed, and grabbed his hair again to pull his head to the side just so he could bite at the skin there.

"Yes!" Harry cried out, pushing back desperately. "I want him to find you fucking me and stick his dick in my mouth. I want you to fuck me in front of him while he's eating, to fuck me next to him while he's sleeping. I want you to make him suck my cock while I suck yours."

Mr. Riddle laughed, the sound full of dark promises. "Oh dear," he taunted, "you _are_ a filthy boy." He raised his hand to play with Harry's nipple, pinching it so abruptly that Harry arched with the sudden shock of sensation. It was so much, so quickly that Harry wasn't sure if it hurt or not, but what he _was_ sure of was that he wanted more. He reached back desperately, threading fingers into dark hair so like Tom's, and pulled the man's head closer.

"What do you want, my dear?" Mr. Riddle asked as he didn't already know.

Harry tried to look back at him, begging with his eyes for Mr. Riddle's tongue, and oddly enough to the man's eyes softened. He leaned over and licked at the shape of Harry's lips gently, slowly becoming more and more aggressive as he neared his orgasm until he was suckling and biting Harry's lips swollen. He thrust harder, the wet _shlick_ of his cock sliding into him seeming louder and louder until Mr. Riddle was biting hard enough to make him bleed and coming inside his body.

The entirety of Harry's left shoulder twinged with the marks that Mr. Riddle had left on him, and his nipples felt swollen red with the attention given to them. His thighs had marks from too-tight fingers and, as Mr. Riddle complied, his lips too were left red and puffy. The only part that remained untouched was his smooth red cock, hanging between his legs and unstimulated except for the first few minutes of their tryst.

Harry nearly sobbed as he climbed higher, questing fingers reaching for his erection when they were snagged by an unforgiving hand. " _Please_ ," he moaned, but Mr. Riddle only laughed as he slowed down, fucking Harry gently as he came down from his orgasm.

"Oh _no_ , baby boy," he said, amusement thick in his voice. He pulled out of Harry with a wet sound, ignoring his sob of despair. "Not yet, not like this."

His hands were softer now, Harry thought dazedly. They turned him until he was on his back, his thighs drifting far apart almost as if on instinct. He felt tired both in mind and body, but he couldn't help but focus everything on the ache between his legs. He wanted to come so badly, wanted to ease the heat that was cooled so tightly in his stomach.

"Oh _sir_ ," he mumbled, almost as if drugged. It was a task to keep his eyes open and focused when all they wanted was to close, but he managed to notice the way that Mr. Riddle's smile turned softer around the edges, the way his shoulders eased until they were more rounded. "Oh sir," Harry moaned out again, hands reaching to tangle fingers into his lover's hair. " _Please_."

"Please?" the man muttered almost fondly. "Oh you sweet, _sweet_ boy, you've got me all wrapped around your pretty little fingers. How could I say no?"

Before Harry could question as to what he had meant, Mr. Riddle had leant down to take his erection in his mouth. Harry almost screamed from the sudden influx of sensation, grasping black strands of hair even tighter as his he bit his other fist to keep quiet. Mr. Riddle sucked on him, his tongue rubbing the underside of his cock as his fingers slid over and around the rim of his sore arse. His other hand stroked at his perineum with just a finger until Harry eventually wound himself up so tight there was nothing to do but release.

When he came it was like letting go of a breath he'd held for too long. His thighs and fingers relaxed until he felt boneless, unable to even comprehend the idea of getting up. He could've fallen asleep right where he was, his own cum coating his stomach, but Mr. Riddle didn't let him. Distantly he heard the man redo his belt and straighten his shirt, and then he was being lifted into strong arms.

He sighed, closing his eyes with a smile. ' _Sweet boy_ ,' Mr. Riddle had called him. Yes, Harry could get used to this.


	7. A Sacrament Taken Kneeling

A Sacrament Taken Kneeling

Words: 2,282  
Pairing: Tom Riddle Sr./Harry Potter  
Beta: None  
Warnings: None 

* * *

He was flushed, his body thrumming before they'd even started. The entire car ride had been silent and Harry was glad for it - he didn't think he could say anything that made sense at the moment anyway. Mr Riddle seemed completely calm and unconcerned, his shoulder relaxed and his hands folded over his lap. It was almost as if he had nothing untoward planned, but when Harry kept jiggling his knee the man reached over to still it with a firm grasp, and Harry knew his lover was just as excited as him.

Mr Riddle was the one who'd come up with the idea, after all.

The rest of the drive was even more torturous. Harry wanted to shift - the shape of his plug pressing against his insides constantly, but Tom Riddle Sr. held firm, his fingers pressing into the meat of Harry's upper thigh with such strength that he couldn't move even if he'd wanted to. So instead of making matters worse for himself, Harry tried to distract himself.

The were going to watch one of Mr Riddle's favourite operas - The Marriage of Figaro. It was a rather famous classic composed by Mozart, but although Harry didn't know what it was about, he supposed it didn't really matter - he wasn't really going to be doing much watching, anyway.

The thought made him flush pink again, and Mr Riddle shot him a knowing, smug smirk that made him even more impatient. He wanted this to be be over already, and they'd not even started! How he would manage the next few hours, he didn't know. Especially not if he was already so desperate for touch that he could barely sit still.

The car finally pulled up before the theatre - a tall, old and opulent building. Harry made to step out, but even as he did Mr Riddle didn't let go. He looked back questioningly, and promptly flushed in embarrassment when the man let his gaze drag meaningfully up and down Harry's body. He quickly straightened his shirt and suit jacket, smoothing out the creases in his pants and glancing surreptitiously to see if his interest was showing.

And then the door was opening.

The walk up to the private box seats was torturous. Harry tried to walk normally and not as if he had an erection or a plug up his arse, but it was hard, especially with Mr Riddle's firm arm around his waist. He kept his head down and put more of his weight on his lover than was perhaps acceptable, but the man bore it silently and helped him steady himself as they walked up the staircase towards their seats. He felt jittery as they approached the open door, waiters and other employees waiting to set them up with plenty of food and drinks before leaving silently. They worked efficiently, but to Harry it still seemed like forever before they finally filed out if the door, shutting it behind them. All the while he kept quiet, kept himself as still as possible and his face calm, but Harry had never being good at hiding his emotions. At some point Mr Riddle's hand found its way back to his thigh as he leaned close to his ear.

"You had better not ruin this for me, Harry," he'd whispered, steel in his tone, and yet it had only made Harry more aroused. He wanted nothing more than to get started, to please Mr Riddle and hear the man tell him he was doing so well. He felt like he might cry from impatience as the seats below slowly filled up, as the occasional acquaintance opened to door just to greet Mr Riddle, as the servers checked back just to make sure they had everything they needed. It took so long, too long, and instead of calming him Mr Riddle's hand on his leg only served to make him burn hotter.

Finally, finally, the lights dimmed, and the chatter died down as the silence held. Harry barely dared breathe, the whole opera house held in a state of absolute stillness before the heavy red curtains finally lifted and bright lights turned on over the stage. It was then that the hand on his leg flexed meaningfully, and Harry slipped down onto his knees.

He unbuttoned and unzipped the trousers quickly, the sound seeming almost incredibly loud to him except that he knew not even Mr Riddle would be able to hear it over the performers on stage. From there it was a quick matter of pulling down the underwear enough that Mr Riddle's cock peeked out, and pushing it down until the whole shape of it hung out into the dark of the private box. He licked his lips at the sight - even though it was too dark to see clearly, he could tell where the outline of Mr Riddle's dick was and feel the shape of it in his hands. The rest his mind filled in for him from the countless times he'd seen the man's cock before.

He leaned closer, his knees widening so he was more comfortable, and licked a long stripe up the underside of the cock. Without meaning to, he moaned a little and wiggled again before bending down again, but then Mr Riddle's hand was in his hair and pulling him up to his face.

"Not another sound out of you Harry, or we'll have to resort to less pleasurable activities." His hand gentled when Harry nodded frantically, and he smiled kindly. "Now then, he whispered, his voice low and deep, "let's try that again, shall we?"

Harry got down to his knees again, his butt resting in his heels as he scooted closer to Mr Riddle's seat, and he once again bent to take the cock into his mouth. He stopped at just the head, his mouth sucking hard and then coming off to lick up the side again. Mr Riddle spread his legs a little more, and Harry grinned to himself when he noticed that the man was getting harder and harder as he showered his attention onto it. Eventually Mr Riddle's dick stood proudly to attention, flushed and hot and glistening in the faint light with Harry's spit.

Now came the real test.

He unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his tie, and then unzipped his own trousers before taking Mr Riddle's cock as deep as it would go. It took him a moment - he couldn't stop swallowing around the thick shape in his mouth - but eventually he settled down so that his throat was relaxed around the man's cock and Harry's own erection was no longer so constricted as to feel painful.

The music was loud beautiful, and a part of Harry couldn't help but wonder at the skill of the singers, but for the most part he could only focus on the fact that his lover's dick was in his mouth, down his throat, just laying there as if it _belonged_ there. The sounds around him seemed to fade with every heartbeat, every half-swallow until he felt like nothing else mattered. The could still feel the sizable plug pressing against the walls of his arse, but it was a secondary concern to the turgid flesh inside his mouth.

His mind was hazy with the smell of Mr Riddle, the taste of him, the weight of him. He felt like he'd been there forever, but although his knees and jaw and thighs ached he'd never felt more content. His life had never felt so simple, so easy before - all he needed to do was sit here with his mouth open, and Mr Riddle would be pleased with him. And wasn't that all he wanted? There was a warm feeling in his chest as he kneeled there that felt like hot chocolate, like sitting before a warm fire, like staying in bed on winter mornings. It grew and spread, it's tendrils reaching further along the branches of Harry's veins until they turned his body into a live-wire. He felt like he was completely attuned to Mr Riddle, sensing even the slightest of movements his lover made like they were his own.

It felt like hours. Eventually there was an interlude and Mr Riddle tugged lightly at his hair again to pull him off. He came back slowly, Mr Riddle's warm hand combing through his hair and grounding him as the noise levels rose and the lights brightened. He tried to stand, but his knees were so weak that Mr Riddle had to help him up to sit next to him. He whispered soft words of praise in his ear and made Harry look into his eyes until he looked focused enough.

"Oh, baby boy," he sighed, almost as if Harry was an endearing pet. He raised his hand to Harry's cheek and rubbed his thumb across swollen lips, frowning faintly at the state of them. Harry parted them to lick and suck at the appendage, and Mr Riddle laughed softly before pulling back to pour a glass of cool water. He held it up and helped Harry sip at it, and then hand-fed him some light sandwiches, petting his hair and face until Harry was positively purring.

"Half-way, sweetheart," he murmured softly into his ear. "We've managed half-way." Harry could barely reply he felt so dazed, but the glow in his chest was so warm and so good that he couldn't help the smile on his lips. He nodded, and Mr Riddle pressed a soft kiss to Harry's forehead. "You're doing so very well, baby boy. I'm so proud of you."

And that was all Harry needed.

When the lights turned down again he needed no encouragement to slip back down onto the floor. The position felt once again awkward to fall into, but this time he adjusted quicker and didn't waste any time in sucking down Mr Riddle's cock. It didn't take as long this time before he found himself back in that comfortable space, the calm state he was in before where all that mattered was Mr Riddle and his cock and the flex of his thighs. Harry didn't need to worry about anything but warming Mr Riddle's cock for him - not about someone finding him like this or what the opera was about or how long it had been. He didn't need to think about anything, because everything had been taken care of for him, and it was so incredibly freeing that it made Harry dizzy.

Time seemed to pass even slower this time. His throat felt full and sensitive, almost to the point that he swore he could feel the throbbing of Mr Riddle's erection against the inside of his mouth. He hummed softly, the vibrations traveling up from his vocal cords and into Mr Riddle's skin. The man groaned softly, his stomach flexing as he stretched just a little and his warm, large hand descended once again into Harry's curly hair. He didn't grasp it this time, but instead ran his fingers through the tendrils soothingly. Once again Harry found himself slipping, his mind wandering and focusing all at once on the smallest things - things like how Mr Riddle's fingernails scraped against his scalp just so, how he began making almost imperceptibly small thrusts up into Harry's mouth, how the amount of pre-cum that leaked from the slit of his cock increased until the taste was almost constantly in his mouth. Mr Riddle's fingers tightened and loosened periodically, and Harry was so lost in the pleasure that when Mr Riddle actually began thrusting he realised he'd drooled all over his groin.

The sound of his lover's cock moving into his wet, wet mouth was so loud it filled Harry's head even as the music reached a crescendo, his tongue loose and his jaw so sore Harry wondered if he'd even be able to shut his mouth again. Mr Riddle didn't seem to care, but grabbed onto Harry's head with both hands and fucked, using Harry as if he were only a toy, an obedient pet, a whore.

And it made something tight appear in his chest and his stomach. He was nothing but this - just another way for his lover to reach orgasm, a toy whose only purpose was to sit with their mouth open, willing to take anything his master bestowed upon him. He reached his hand down, trying desperately to bring himself off but no, he didn't want it like this, by his own desperate fingers. He didn't want to focus on anything but the cock fucking his mouth, the man holding his hair, the soft pants of pleasure that Harry should not have been able to hear over all the noise-

And then Mr Riddle came in his mouth.

He felt the hands around his face soften, felt them push him off and up into Mr Riddle's lap, and let himself he thoroughly kissed. Mr Riddle laughed when he whined softly, his hands stroking down his back and resting at his but, right over where the plug still rested. "You've been so good to me, sweet boy," he said softly, pulling Harry closer until his face rested on Mr Riddle's neck. He burrowed ever closer, unable to think about anything but how safe he felt, how good he felt to have made Mr Riddle happy.

They left early. Later, Mr Riddle would bend him over the kitchen table and fuck his plug into him until he finally came, but for now all that mattered were the strong, capable arms around him, the tiredness weighing down his limbs and the strong glow in his chest.


	8. Silk

**Silk**

Words: 3,670  
Pairing: Sirius Black/Harry Potter  
Beta: None.  
Warnings: None.

* * *

It was afternoon when his lectures finally ended. He was tired, expecting nothing more thank to go home and take a nap before dinner. When he stepped out into the street he was surprised to see Sirius waiting for him, bent lazily over the handlebars of his black motorcycle with his helmet hanging from his fingers like a model for bikes or leather jackets. He looked so very beautiful, so incredibly attractive that it brought Harry up short, made him a little breathless.

Unbidden, his mind flashed to the package he'd received that morning - plain, unassuming brown wrapping paper taped tight over an equally boring cardboard box. What he'd discovered inside, however, had been anything _but_ dull. The box had been filled with all manner of smooth silk and soft cotton, fine lace in a multitude of colours and styles and shapes. He had explored them curiously, holding them up against himself as he looked into his bedroom mirror. Some were fairly modest, almost _chaste_ but the others - _oh_ , they barely left anything to the imagination at all, cut so low and short that Harry wondered if _anything_ would be covered.

Red stained his cheeks as his thoughts turned to the man who'd brought them for him, as he imagined Sirius shopping casually and thinking of Harry as he touched silk and lace, holding them up to picture Harry wearing them, buying them and thinking of fucking Harry in them. He thought of Sirius sending them with Harry on his mind and it made arousal burn in his stomach like a smouldering cigarette.

He wore some now, gossamer under cotton and wool, and as he walked with a smile to where his paramour waited and watched with hooded eyes. He wondered if it was visible somehow, if Sirius _knew_ somehow. The man didn't seem to. He greeted Harry like he did every other time, a strong arm around his waist pulling him close enough to kiss.

"Hello, sweetheart," he whispered against Harry's lips, like a secret between the two of them. Harry's fingers gripped at the leather of his jacket as he smiled back, pushing as close as he could without burning his leg on the heated exhaust pipe.

"Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow," he replied. And he hadn't, because Sirius was usually busy on Mondays and free to come see him on Tuesdays. Perhaps that's why he'd decided to try and wear something like lingerie today, to Uni of all places. Because he hadn't thought anyone would find out.

But Sirius grinned back and kissed him like he was a brand new delicacy he just couldn't stop tasting, and said, "I missed you," and Harry climbed onto the bike behind him with nary more than a nod of Sirius' head in question.

The ride back was quick. He pressed as close to Sirius as he could, his hands holding Sirius tighter than he need to. Both of them knew it. Harry had ridden on the back of Sirius' motorcycle so many times he could rest his hands, lax, on his own thighs and be just as comfortable. But there was something about pushing close to the warmth of another's body, something about being that close to another's heartbeat as warm air became cold wind and the streets rushed past like a smudged picture that felt like a separation. Like they were in their own little bubble of time, their own space, uninterrupted by anything else. Like all that mattered was the warm body in his arms and the loud hum of the machine between his legs.

Sirius smelled like cigarette smoke and engine grease - he always did, form the garage and because he just wouldn't stop smoking no matter how many times Harry told him it was bad for him.

"I'll die when I'm meant to die," his reply usually was, "and not a second earlier." And then he'd blow grey smoke into Harry's face and laugh at his scowl like he was about as threatening as a glaring kitten.

The journey didn't take long, and yet it seemed like a small eternity had gone by before they finally came to a stop at Sirius' place. It took him a second to convince his arms to loosen from around Sirius' waist, but then Sirius was looking at him - flushed cheeks and helmet hair - like he was some kind of _vision_ , nodding "go on in, darling, I'm right behind you," and Harry wondered if this was true love.

And then he told himself that it was ridiculous, that Sirius was surely not as deeply embroiled in affection for him as Harry would like to imagine. He was so much older, more mature - what could he possibly find in a 20 year old man-child that he couldn't in someone his own age? And yet, as he reached the kitchen and set the table for dinner, he thought ' _I'm far too familiar with this_ ,' and wondered what their future might look like. The idea of losing this part of his life was abhorrent to him now.

They ate in relative silence, slow and tired after a long day. Sirius was a decent cook when he put his mind to it, and curry was perhaps one of his best dishes. They ate quickly and before Harry knew it, Sirius was rising to do the washing up, talking about how a mate of his had gotten into a spot of trouble. He paused, rinsing out a cup and putting it on the drying rack, and Harry said "you know, my friends think I have a boyfriend."

Sirius stilled a little, turning just enough to watch Harry pretend at naiveté from the corner of his eye. He didn't reply, but hummed questioningly. He too pretended at more ease than he really felt, Harry could tell from the stiffness of his back, but he didn't point it out. Instead, he merely nodded. "Yes," he said. Then added, "Hermione thinks it's something a little different."

Sirius put away the last cup to dry and turned as Harry stood from his chair and neared. "Oh?" Sirius said. "What _does_ she think?" There was a strange look on his face, like he wanted to say something but was wary of doing so. Like he knew what was coming but felt apprehensive of it.

Harry leant against the table casually, his hands braced against the edge. "She says that a _boyfriend_ wouldn't buy me expensive clothes and pay off my rent," he answered. "She says that a boyfriend wouldn't take me to five star restaurants every other week or send me expensive chocolates whenever the opportunity arrives or pay off all my debts. She says-" he broke off, looking shrewdly at Sirius. The man didn't react, merely looked at him expectantly. Calmly. "She says you're my _sugar daddy_ ," he said finally .

Sirius looked at him, a strange hunger in his eyes. "And?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

" _Are_ you my sugar daddy?" he asked. He moved closer, his hands reaching to smooth Sirius' shirt over his chest and slide up, up over his shoulders. He cocked his head to the side and Sirius sighed fondly, reaching for him in turn.

"What if I am? Does it matter what you call me, darling, as long as we know what we mean?"

Harry stayed silent, playing with the neck of Sirius' t-shirt. ' _And what_ are _we?_ ', he wanted to ask. ' _How long will this last? For a year, until the end of uni, forever?_ ' Instead of saying any of that aloud, however, he let Sirius pull him closer by the hold on his body, and said, "I got a rather interesting package this morning."

His hands were warm and firm around Harry's waist, thumbs pressing into the dips at his hips until they felt oddly tingly - like he was ticklish, except not quite. Sirius pulled him closer, so slowly that Harry could think ' _oh, now I can see his every eyelash, and now the little wrinkles at his eyes_ ,' until eventually they were pressed so tightly together that he imagined he could feel Sirius' heart beating against his own chest.

He sighed a little, knowing his face had softened at the feel of Sirius' gentle touch and he couldn't even hide it. Couldn't even try.

Sirius smirked. He was so attractive, Harry thought, it honestly took his breath away how quickly he smiled, how easily he laughed, how his eyes sparkled with easy contentedness. It had taken him so long to get here, so long for the shadows to run out from under his bones and his skin. It had taken him so long to leave the past in the past. Harry pressed impossibly closer, his hands firm on Sirius' biceps as he leaned to mouth at his jaw. He laved his tongue slowly, wetly, against the soft place there, let himself feel the prickle of stubble against the sensitive organ.

"Did you," Sirius asked, his voice so low and deep it felt like it was rumbling through his own chest and _oh god_ he wanted Sirius between his legs so very _badly_. Wanted his weight, his warmth, the speed of his pulse against his tongue. His lover smiled against his hair and, without warning, pushed his hands down the back of Harry's jeans.

Immediately he froze, and something in Harry stilled impossibly as he realised what lay so closely against Sirius' hands, so softly against his own skin. He wondered if he'd done wrong, if it hadn't been meant for now. His back stiffened and he breathed in sharply, and then Sirius groaned so loudly, so _shamelessly_ , that Harry felt his eyes go wide with shock.

" _Harry_ ," Sirius groaned, his mouth suddenly so very hungry against his lips and his neck and his collarbone. Harry thought distantly that he'd have marks to hide tomorrow, but could focus on little else but the way Sirius gripped at his arse and _squeezed_ , the way he snapped the elastic at the very top of his left thigh. It stung despite the constraint of the jeans and Harry gasped into Sirius' ear, his fingers pushing into the hair at Sirius' nape.

"Sirius," he gasped, quietly and then louder, " _Sirius_!" The man groaned loudly in reply, busy sucking a hickey into the little dip beside Harry's Adam's apple, so he grasped at his hair and pulled him back, away, until he could see his flushed lips and lust-blown eyes. And Sirius was _handsome_ \- perfectly shaped lips and straight teeth and heavy lidded eyes that seemed almost silver at times, and black at others. Sirius had perfect, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders and looked beautiful whether it was loose and wild or tied back into a ponytail. He walked with a confidence that was attractive all on it own and stood like a bloody model, and half the time Harry was convinced he did it on purpose. But when Sirius was like _this_ \- hair mussed and mouth hungry for _Harry_ , lusty for _Harry_ , he seemed much more beautiful than anyone Harry had ever seen before. Harry loved Sirius best when he was lost and uncaring, his eyes on Harry and warmth in his eyes.

He leaned up, wrapping his arms around Sirius neck, and kisses his mouth softly. "Take me to bed," he whispered. His lover wasted no time in picking him up, Harry's legs around his waist, and obeying.

He stripped himself of his jeans and hoodie quickly, wasting no time as Sirius watched. Underneath he wore a soft white slip, delicate lace curling around his throat like a collar of vines. His legs were covered in long lace stockings, the tops of his thighs bared like a call to sin. He flushed pinker the longer Sirius watched him, letting himself turn a little in show until the man touched his bare shoulder to still him, his eyes taking up and down the length of him greedily.

"You look beautiful, Harry," he said, and then immediately after, "let me _ruin_ you Harry."

He gasped soundlessly and opened his arms wide, and Sirius held his head in both of his hands to pull him into a kiss he couldn't escape from. A kiss he didn't _want_ to escape from.

His hands played with the straps at his shoulders, and then suddenly he flicked at Harry's nipple. " _Oh_ ," he murmured, and then moaned when Sirius did it again and again, twisting at them through the soft of his slip until they were sore and swollen, until every brush of fabric sent electricity down to his cock. Then he bowed his head, looking Harry in the eye, and licked.

His mouth soaked the fabric as his tongue played, his hands slipping underneath his panties to brush against his hole teasingly. "Legs apart love," he told Harry, tapping at his thigh to encourage him. Then he seemed to become impatient, or suddenly needy, because he dipped lower and hooked his index finger in the soft fabric to move it to the side.

"Oh god, _Sirius_ " Harry moaned, embarrassed, and tried to clasp at Sirius' hair to pull him back up. The man resisted, his eyes stuck on the pink of his hole.

"You're so _pretty_ here sweetheart," he told Harry, his other hand teasing the skin there softly. His lips moved to the small sliver of thigh between the tops of his stockings and the hem of the nightgown, mouthing at the skin greedily. He licked Harry there hungrily, biting at one then the other until they were red with the marks of his teeth and his stubble and Harry was near tears.

" _Fuck_ me already," he demanded, pulling at Sirius' hair. His lover had mercy on him and reached blindly over to his drawers for lube.

"Come on," Harry moaned, taking Sirius' mouth back in a kiss and thrusting his hips up a little. Sirius laughed as he slicked his fingers up and finally, slowly, pushed one finger in.

"Okay?" he asked, and at Harry's nod pushed in another, thrusting them in and out easily. When he'd stretched Harry well enough, Harry moved up enough to get at Sirius' trousers, unzipping him and pulling out his erection to hold in one hand.

His cock was long and pink and thick, flushed with blood and arousal and dripping at the top and Harry _wanted_ it, in his mouth, in his arse. Sirius asked him to turn onto his front, so he bent down onto the bed until his arse was up and on display.

Sirius was rough with his hands, squeezing and pulling and pushing. He snapped the elastic at the leg a few more time - this time harder, and the sting made Harry widen his legs for him. "Oh Harry," he laughed, low and husky with arousal. He pushed the fabric of his panties aside again, revealing Harry's pink, stretched hole to his eyes. "Did you want me to fuck you here, darling?"

"Yes, yes _please_ ," he gasped. "Oh Sirius," he moaned, and there was more cold lube on his arse and a finger, long and questing, teasing, playing with him.

"I'm _ready_ ," he hissed impatiently. Sirius smirked at his desperation and pushed his cock up between his butt and the soft cotton panties thrusting a little as it settled against Harry's skin. He pushed slowly, the tip of his cock dragging against the rim but never sliding in, the bastard laughing with his eyes the whole time as Harry flushed redder and redder with arousal.

"Sirius _please_ ," he whined, pushing up desperately, his legs spread wide. "Stop _teasing_ me!"

"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that darling," Sirius replied, groaning at the way Harry felt against his cock, the way his arse looked in such flimsy clothing. He wanted to soil Harry in them and soak them with his cum before fucking his lover, he wanted Harry to _cry_. His cock pushed up, higher, and then back down along the line of his cleft, brushing against Harry's hole just enough to make him _want_ it.

He wouldn't speed up. Harry's fingers twisted in the sheets and he bent up so frantically that his nightgown slid down to bare his back, his chest, all the way to his nipples. He reached for his own cock, but Sirius' hands were large and strong and held his wrists above his head effortlessly.

"What do you _want_ ," he gasped, overcome. His eyes burned with desperate tears. Sirius bent close, his chest pushing down against him until every part of his front was lined along Harry's back.

"I just want you to _cry_ ," he rasped, something so very dark and delicious in his voice. "I want you _desperate_ , darling." He pulled Harry's head back sharply, bending his neck until his full mouth was at Harry's ear. "Can you do that for me?"

And Harry's eyes were so wet, just like his skin was with sweat, like his cock was with precum, that all he had to do was _blink_ and the tears slid across his eyelids and soaked eyelashes to drip down his cheeks.

"Good _boy_ ," Sirius grinned, gripping Harry's butt to sink into him. His weight inside Harry, his shape and heat and _presence_ was like a brand, a permanent reminder saying _this is mine, I belong here_. His cock went deep on the first thrust, making Harry whine like he was hurting.

He wasn't. "Oh, oh," he grunted with every thrust, Sirius moving fast now, eager. He huffed in frustration as Harry slid further along the sheets with every push and, annoyed, pulled out to sit himself down.

"Work a little," he said, gesturing to his lap. Harry crawled closer on his hands and knees, moved his thighs to either side of Sirius' hips and sank down onto his cock again with a contented sigh. His panties were wet, soaked, and Harry wondered distantly if they'd ever recover from this. But Sirius' hands were warm on his damp skin, his cock heavy in Harry's arse, his stubble leaving red on his collarbone, and Harry wanted to come so badly he'd let Sirius ruin all of his brand new lingerie if he'd just fuck him _harder_.

His thighs trembled as he pushed himself up and down, revelling in the slick slide of Sirius' dick against his arse and his prostate. He clenched, hard, and Sirius groaned low and delicious in his ear, his fingers flexing on his hips like he wanted to slam him down onto his erection so hard Harry would never forget what it felt like to be fucked by him. But it was Harry's turn now, Harry's chance to tease Sirius, to bring him to the edge and keep him there due as long as he could stand to.

He leaned in close, yanking at Sirius' beautiful hair hard enough to make him hiss, and let his lips touch his neck.

His mouth played at kissing Sirius' skin, his teeth on the edge of biting skin but not quite, not _quite_. Their speed increased and with it Sirius' enthusiasm, his need, until eventually he decided Harry couldn't fuck hard enough like this and pushed him to lay on his back, never slipping out of him. He began to fuck Harry in earnest then, his hips moving fast as his attentions returned to Harry's legs, mouthing and biting at his knee and calf and thigh like he wanted to preserve them in his mind forever.

"Oh, oh, oh," Harry chanted with every thrust, the loud slap of skin against skin filling the room, the scent of sex heavy in his nose. He felt dizzy with pleasure, Sirius' cock rubbing against his insides just right, but-

"Touch me," he pleaded as the need to orgasm overwhelmed him. "Sirius, _please_." He pulled Sirius closer again, kissing him deep and hard, their mouths moving over one another's as Sirius reached to grasp Harry's cock. It only took a single stroke before he was coming, his semen covering his lover's hand and his own stomach. It took longer for Sirius to come, the man pushing into him even after he'd finished as he tried to reach his orgasm. It hurt in a strangely erotic way, his poor hole sore and overly sensitive, but Sirius didn't stop until he started whining.

But when it became too much he let himself slip out, still hard, and instead pushed his cock between Harry's thighs. "Let me," he gasped, aching. "Oh darling _let me_." So Harry pushed his legs together, his nightgown soiled and pushed up his chest, one stocking pushed down to his knees, and clenched his thighs tight around Sirius' cock.

Sirius moved his legs up together and to the side against his shoulder and _pushed_ , just at the edge and reaching with single-minded ferocity. His cock was still slick with lube, pushing easily between the soft skin of Harry's thighs. He watched, almost hypnotised, as the head of his erection appeared and disappeared until eventually Sirius was coming all over him, his chest, his pretty white nightgown.

He pulled away from Harry's cum-soaked thighs and collapsed beside him, and when his breathing calmed he stripped Harry of all his lingerie and went to get him a washcloth. Harry way he'd him lazily, fondly as he wiped him clean and stroked idle fingers through his hair. "You've ruined them," he murmured, head bending in the vaguest of nods towards the silk on the floor beside the bed.

Sirius threw the cloth on top of the pile and lay down beside him, pulling him close to rest on his chest. "I'll buy you more," he replied, an indolent grin on his face. "In fact, next time you can come with me and choose whatever you want."

Harry laughed brightly, bare skin warmed by the golden afternoon sun. "Yes _daddy_ ," he teased, and pressed an affectionate kiss into Sirius' naked chest.


	9. Open For Public Use

Open For Public Use

Words: 6,107  
Pairing: Tom Riddle Jr/Tom Riddle Sr/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/multiple unknown characters  
Beta: LittleMissSketch  
Warnings: possibly some dub-con? 

* * *

Tom's smile was razor sharp as he undressed Harry despite his protests, mild though they were. His hands moved precisely, popping each button from its place until Harry's shirt hung open, his bare skin exposed to the evening air.

Dusk hung low in the sky. Before long it would be night, and although it was summer the absence of the sun still manifested in air cool enough to leave goosebumps along his skin. Mr Riddle watched impassively as Tom pushed the shirt off Harry's shoulders, letting it fall to the floor without care as to its fate. He started on his trousers just as Mr Riddle stepped closer, testing a branch of the oak they stood under as if he hadn't already picked the perfect one days ago. His eyes shone with an unholy amusement. Harry started shivering.

His trousers fell as soon as his belt was undone, and then his boxers until he was naked in the middle of the Riddles' garden maze. A part of him wanted to hide himself behind one of the hedges, but Mr Riddle's gaze was sharp enough to deter him - he'd earned this, after all. It was this or serving at one of Mr Riddle's more private parties, and Harry could never manage to be polite to those horrid, snobby people.

So he remained where he was without protest as Tom reached for his satchel, pulling out a long length of braided rope. He handed it to his father and dove right back into the bag, pulling out a small bottle of lube and a thick, dark purple dildo.

Harry flushed just at the sight of it. It was fairly new, mostly unused except for last night when Mr Riddle had bent him over his desk and worked him open with it. 'To get you used to it,' he'd said. He ached at the thought of it inside him.

His hands were grasped in warm, rough palms and then the rope was being looped around his wrists. He watched as Mr Riddle flung one end over the branch, thick and strong enough to hold his weight without breaking, and strung him up like a work of art for his perusal. He pulled him high enough that Harry had his arms stretched straight up, and then tugged some more until only the tips of his toes touched the ground. It took him a moment to regain his balance, his arms already tired at the prospect of remaining like this for the next few hours, but he didn't complain.

The look on his face must have said it all though, because Tom laughed at him and kissed his mouth fondly. "You reap what you sow, my dear," he said. Harry frowned at him, opened his mouth to say something scathing in the face of Tom's amusement, but then something warm and slick pushed inside him and he moaned rather loudly instead.

"Such a little slut," Mr Riddle said from behind him. His voice was low and seemingly unbothered, but when Harry wrapped eager legs around Tom's waist Mr Riddle's fingers sped up eagerly, pushing deep and stretching him wide. His index finger crooked sideways, pushing into the walls of his hole, and when Harry bucked eagerly he added more lube to slick the way in. Before long he had four fingers worked in, and then Tom - kissing his shoulder all the while - nudged at the rim of his hole with the tip of the dildo.

He arched his back at the pressure, the push, the shape of it stretching him wide. It was so very large, the largest he'd ever taken, and despite being stretched properly and patiently he ached at the size of it. Tom's mouth moved against his skin like he was going to bite it, playing at leaving a mark, but Mr Riddle grasped his hair and pulled him off. Tom growled and glared balefully at his father, but Mr Riddle didn't budge. His chest pushed against Harry's back, Tom's arms wrapped tight around his waist, but though they held him closely he suddenly felt insignificant.

"We talked about this," Mr Riddle said. His voice was just a little sharp, just a little commanding. Tom didn't seem pleased. Mr Riddle clearly didn't care. "You'll not mark up his pretty skin tonight," he ordered. "Not until after."

And they had talked about this. Tom had agreed to this, had enjoyed the thought of coming back to see Harry painted in cum and bites and bruises left by people unknown, but it was less that he was being denied more that it was his father telling him no that bothered him.

Their relationship remained incredibly complicated, a convoluted mess of resentment, desire and perhaps a little jealousy. Nevertheless, Tom shifted his head the slightest bit, his lip jutting out stubbornly, and Mr Riddle let go without fuss. He seemed uncaring, like it didn't matter to him one way or the other the way in which he'd brought Tom to heel, but there was something so very smug in the smirk he pushed into Harry's nape that there was no doubt of the pleasure Tom's obstinacy brought him. His fingers found the end of the toy inside him and, with practiced precision, he slid it out only to ram it back in. The motion was almost uncaring in its violence and yet Harry gasped, his legs tightening around Tom's waist and his heels pushing him harder between his legs. He wanted to ask him to be softer and he almost did, because despite how arousing it was there was a hard line to Mr Riddle's body against his back, to Tom's jaw as he watched Harry gasp. But then Mr Riddle did it again, and again, and Harry couldn't say anything.

It didn't matter. Tom smirked, his fingers so very soft compared to the firm push of Mr Riddle as they trailed across his cheek. "You reap what you sow," he repeated, quieter this time. "If only you'd listened to me." And Harry thought, 'that boy would have died if I hadn't stepped in.' He thought, 'the police would have come too late.' There was a strange look in Tom's eyes as he watched Harry get fucked, now slow enough that he could feel every inch of the toy as it rubbed against his insides.

He leant forward and kissed Tom on the mouth, and Tom let him, his hands warm where they wove into his hair to rest against his scalp. Mr Riddle thrust the dildo in a few more times, twisting it a little at the end of every push before pulling it back out. Tom moved his hand down and, without warning, flicked the head of Harry's cock.

The sharp sting brought tears to his eyes. He gasped wordlessly, the flick of Tom's nail leaving a surprisingly harsh bite on the skin of his aroused cock. It took him a moment to blink the blurriness away, by which time Tom had reached for his satchel again and returned with a bright red ribbon and a very familiar, very wide plug. He promptly handed the metal toy to Mr Riddle, who slipped the dildo out slowly and then slicked Harry some more before pushing the plug in, unmindful of his pained hiss.

Tom looked Harry in the eyes as he bound the ribbon around his cock, making sure he wouldn't be able to reach orgasm. "Don't worry, I'll make it clear that nobody's to give you any real stimulation." He gripped the base of Harry's erection and pulled, making him thrust upwards wantonly. "After all," he laughed, "you're only here to be fucked."

Mr Riddle walked around to his front as well, a gag in his hands. "Open up now, my dear," he said. Tom stepped back, letting Harry's legs down so that he was back on his tiptoes and Mr Riddle right before him. He tsked impatiently when Harry opened up. "Wider," he ordered coolly, tapping at his lower lip. "I've seen you take more easily."

The ball was pushed into his mouth, and once the strap was secured around his head Mr Riddle kissed him over the gag, knowing full well the effect it had on him. Oh, Harry would be a mess before this even started, he just knew it. They hadn't even started, not really, but already his mouth was wet with saliva, his legs trembling. How would he stand the rest of the night when he was already tired, already desperate? And yet once again Tom laughed, pulling out a seemingly unimposing strip of black fabric.

"It might seem difficult now, my dear, but just you wait." He took Harry's sight, the black fabric coupled with the lack of sunlight making it impossible to see. "You'll love it," he whispered into Harry's ear. "I just know it."

And then he moved back. The warmth of his body - slight as it had been - was suddenly gone, and Harry felt its absence keenly. Already he found himself focusing on their footsteps retreating from him, the slight pause in their movement as Tom presumably picked up his satchel. His ears strained as the sound of their walking quietened until the tread of their boots blended into the rustling of leaves and the crickets that came awake with the sun's goodbye.

And Harry hung, alone and naked, in the middle of the maze.

His mind wandered, choosing randomly to focus on the faintest breeze, the way it brushed against his skin like a lover's hair, before moving on to the sound of little animals in the hedges, the tightness of rope around his wrists. Every fibre of the rope felt like an unforgiving noose. Harry wondered if it really was that tight, if the skin there was red from the slight, uncontrollable twists of his wrists - as if to test the knot - or if it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

He thought, many a time, that he heard someone approach. More than once he thought he heard footsteps over the nearest hedge, the quiet chatting of friends or lovers out for a brief walk. Perhaps, Harry thought, if he strained his ears he could even hear the music from the party at the manor. Logically he knew he wouldn't be able to - it was too far, the hedge maze too thick, but it felt like his mind needed something to grab onto, lest it lose itself in the strange sensation of a not-quite-void, of an emptiness that wasn't quite empty and yet still not enough.

It felt like forever before he actually did hear someone - a woman, laughing what seemed like mere meters from where he hung. Far too close. He wondered how he had missed her until now, until she was but a minutes walk away from where he was strung up. He tensed as he heard her voice become louder, draw nearer, until he could hear her near-silent partner quietly chuckle in response to her commentary.

He wondered when they would see him, how they'd react. Harry knew Mr Riddle had made sure only willing partners would find their way into the maze, but nevertheless he grew nervous and apprehensive. His stomach felt oddly heavy and his ears almost hurt with the focus he put on them. When would they see him? Would he know? He couldn't even tell which direction they'd come from, not really. Tom had only taken his sight away, but waiting for company as he was he felt almost dizzy, like he'd lost all sense of realism. Logic seemed too far, and he couldn't find it in himself to slide into a calmer state - all he could to was wait anxiously.

They neared. He could hear their footsteps on the path, soft steps on the ground as they meandered their way into the centre of the maze. He could pinpoint the moment they saw him - she gasped delightedly, like she'd just being given a gift, and before he knew it there was a body standing along his back - close enough to feel and yet not touch, a shape shielding him from the gentle breeze that felt like ice on his bare skin. He wondered what he looked like to them, hung naked and blinded from a tree like mere decoration.

Her hands were small, delicate and yet her grip was strong. She grasped his chin without shame, turning it this way and that. "Isn't he beautiful, honey," she said, her other hand flicking idly at one of Harry's exposed nipples. He flinched violently, moaning embarrassingly loud through the gag. Even such little stimulation felt more like a bolt of lightning after so long spent untouched. For what felt like hours the only real stimulation he had focused on was the way his toes felt against soft soil and the burn of rope around his wrists. Her touch might as well have been a slap.

She laughed at him, her hands stroking along his chest gently. Her skin was soft, the bite of her nails keen, and Harry tensed even more as he wondered at the man behind him. He imagined - in the vague way one dreams before they are asleep - that he could feel the swelling of the stranger's dick against his back, the heat from his crotch, the arousal coming off his skin like body heat. He couldn't, he told himself, he couldn't, he knew this, and yet-

She slid her hands down his flank, thumbs dragging purposefully against the sensitive skin there. He twitched again, his open jaw aching, his shoulders burning with every sway of his body, but she moved like he hadn't even reacted. Her right hand slid further along his back, her fingers long. Harry shook when she tapped the plug inside him once, twice, pressing a sharp smile into the weak place between his collarbone and neck.

"Take it out, darling," she ordered. She wasn't speaking to Harry. The man behind him was gentle, sliding his plug out smoothly. "Is he loose enough?" she asked. Her chest pressed against his own now, her hands pushing at the inside of his thighs like she was trying to make space for her lover between them.

Fingers skirted at the edge of his hole, pushing just enough to slip inside the very rim. "Yes, he'll do," came the voice from behind him, deep, husky. A large man's voice. A zipper went down, the sound like a shot in the quiet, and then the hot, smooth shape of an erection was pushing up against him.

He gasped, spreading his legs willingly now. The woman laughed again, elation in her voice. "Oh he's so ready," she said. The man grasped onto his waist and she gripped at the backs of his thighs, pushing them up against his chest and revealing him to her eyes. Harry flushed, wondering where her gaze rested. The not-knowing made him burn with an uncomfortable mix of shame and arousal.

"Go on," she egged the man. His fingers flexed on Harry's waist, pressing hard enough to leave bruises. "Take him," she demanded. "I want to see his face-"

And he was so wide. Harry wanted to cry, wanted to cry at the burn, the sudden fullness, the ache in his arms. "Please," he wanted to beg, but he didn't know what for, and all that came out was a high-pitched, pathetic moan. It seemed like almost too much, too heavy for his mind, too heavy for the space in his body. He felt adrift - the only things that anchored him were their hands, his dick, her mouth, the rope around his hands like a reminder of Tom, of Mr Riddle. 'They can use you', their memory whispered into Harry's ear, someone else's dick inside him, 'but they can't take you away'.

He wanted Tom's bite so badly now, wanted him to be watching, wanted Mr Riddle to be pressed against his front and telling the man inside him 'speed up, harder, give it to him like he needs it.' Their absence was sharp, almost detestable, and yet-

Why was he so hard? The woman pushed a finger into the slit of his weeping dick, drawing the wetness across his bottom lip like lip-gloss. He wondered if it looked slick. "Your mouth looks so pretty like this," she sighed. "I almost wish I could watch you could suck him instead." The man behind him thrust up again, harder, more desperate. He was nearing his orgasm, Harry could tell, and he too became desperate to come.

He pushed up, pushed back, his thighs pressing into his chest and her mouth on his lips, stretching over the gag that pushed them wide. She laughed at his neediness, his open, naked desire. But she didn't touch him again. He fucked Harry like Harry was a toy, like he was an object, and when their mouths met over his shoulder Harry could hear it, hear the slide of their tongues against each other, his pants into her as he came inside Harry. He whined, he wanted so badly to come, wanted a hand on his dick for just a second.

But, of course, he didn't get it. Her dress was silky soft, it slid against the underside of his tied erection like a cruel joke, but it wasn't enough. She kissed her lover as his thrusts became sloppy, messy, until he came inside Harry all wet and hot and eager. He slid out almost as soon as he finished, and she slid the plug back inside as if to pretend none of this had ever happened. He wondered if he still remained unmarked, nothing on the outside showing the way in which he'd been defiled, his insides wet with a stranger's cum.

And he thought of it now, thought of how he might well see this couple again, might make polite conversation at some party or fancy lunch, and never know that he'd fucked him while she'd watched. He wouldn't know, but they would. Every time they looked at him pretending to be civilised and remember the way he'd moaned, and when they'd watch Tom come up behind him they'd remember the way he'd spread his legs for another man's dick like a whore. Perhaps they'd whisper about it, about how that young man wasn't all he seemed, about how much of a slut he really was - after all, what kind of desperate must he be to let absolute strangers fuck him?

They thoughts made him burn, his flush spreading from his face to his shoulders, his chest - he didn't need to see it to know it. Tom had described it to him often enough. If he thought about it the air still felt cold in his skin, but he felt almost numb to it nonetheless. He felt instead like his blood was buzzing, like it boiled hot enough right underneath his cold skin that anything else felt like an afterthought. His thighs were sore, his shoulders aching, but most of all he couldn't stop focusing on the wet of cum inside him. He couldn't stop thinking about it, about someone coming by and finding his insides dripping.

He heard the next one coming for much longer. It was one person, walking fast enough for it to be purposeful rather than a relaxing walk down the garden path. It didn't take very long for him to get to where Harry waited, and once he did he wasted no time in grabbing carelessly onto Harry's hips.

The man laughed. "I couldn't believe it!" he said, clearly excited. He was impatient, one hand on his own trousers whilst the other moved up to grope at Harry's chest like he was an animal, a dog instead of a man.

"I've seen you, you know," he continued. His erection was out now, pushing between Harry's thighs. The man surprised him then by calming, almost as if he hadn't thought he'd really be allowed to go this far, but now that he'd managed he'd become confident that Harry wasn't going to get taken from him. "Push them together, doll," he murmured, tapping at the outside of Harry's left thigh and then pushing at it until Harry's muscles strained to keep them tight. He pushed in and back, his thrusts sharp but slow. Like he had all the time in the world.

"I've seen you," he said again, "with their hands all over you. You smile so sweetly, you know?" He pushed in again, hard. Harry squirmed and the man shushed him by grabbing his hair and pulling his head forward and to the side, so that his nape was bared. He gnawed at the bone of his spine like he was starving, speaking in between breaths. "I always thought your lips were perfect for sucking cock," he groaned. "I always wanted to make you sit on my cock while everyone just watched.

"But they wouldn't have let me."

He let go suddenly, moving to Harry's front. Harry waited for him to touch him again, to push his cock back between his thighs, but the man didn't move closer. Instead, he heard the slick sound of something wet, and realised with a sudden, heated clarity man was jerking of right in front of him. Was jerking off to him, unashamedly, and Harry still couldn't see him. He gasped, feeling hot at the thought of the man coming all over him. He wouldn't be able to see it coming, he thought. He'd just have to feel it, have to wait patiently. He couldn't avoid it, he thought, not even if he wanted to.

The man groaned loudly as he came, stripes of cum painting Harry's thighs like the stranger was marking his presence. His semen was hot, felt almost scalding on his cooled skin. He whined, a high pitched noise that he was immediately embarrassed of making, but the didn't even seem to notice. He groaned again, obvious pleasure in his voice at the way he had defiled what he'd previously thought of as untouchable, and then laughed again. It sounded a lot more aggressive now.

"Look," he said, and pushed his hips into Harry's leg. His cock was still hard, a burning brand against his skin. "Look what you do to me." And then, pushing his mouth close to Harry's ear, he whispered, "they should have shared you a lot earlier."

He fucked Harry then, slid the plug out and pushed his legs up and around his waist. "Look at you," he said as he pushed in, "already been fucked, but you're still desperate for it aren't you?"

And Harry could only nod in agreement.

He finished quickly the second time, pushing the plug back in before letting Harry's legs slid from his waist. Then he patted Harry on the head like he was a child and said, "nice fuck princess," before leaving him standing there, cooling come on his chest and thighs, feeling ever more full.

He could barely stand after. His arms and shoulders throbbed and he couldn't seem to find his balance, slipping from side to side as he tried to stand comfortably. His toes felt almost numb, but he couldn't lay them flat or even move his weight to the outer edge of his feet. Mr Riddle had tied him up too high. A part of him hoped for another man to come pick him up and give him a seconds reprieve.

He didn't have to wait long for the next guest to find him.

This one was near silent. He was quick, his hands large and rough with calluses and when he slid the plug out of Harry's loose hole he breathed in sharply. His thrusts were quick and hard, punishing, but he didn't come. He seemed to fuck Harry for hours, pushing into him until Harry was crying out and trying to clench down on his dick, but the man just wouldn't come. And then, without any warning, the man shouted "Hey!"

Harry flinched, his body trying to turn around in confusion, but the man's grip was strong and unyielding on his hips. He'd been so engrossed, Harry had failed to notice another person coming into the centre of the maze.

"Come here," the man called out. His voice was incredibly deep, and it felt like it travelled to his very bones. He didn't even pause in fucking Harry, his pace just as fast and unashamed, unfazed by the other man who was obviously watching. The newcomer didn't reply, but before long Harry could feel his breath on his face.

The man behind him grabbed at his thighs and pushed them up and apart, as wide as they'd go. He fucked into Harry a few more times and then paused meaningfully.

"Go on," he urged after a second. "He's much too loose for me."

Harry tensed when he realised what the man meant. He started shaking from side to side, whimpering from behind his gag. "You'll rip me apart," he wanted to say. "I can't take it." But all that came out where desperate little noises. The man behind him chuckled, the sound cruel and dark and merciless.

"Go on," he said again, and shifted his grip on Harry so as to keep him still. The zip came undone with a sharp sound, and then the newcomer was pushing his dick at the rim of Harry's hole.

He wailed louder. "Hurry up," the first man said, and then seemed to become annoyed with Harry's protesting. He slapped his butt sharply, once, then again three times in quick succession until the skin there felt red and bruised. His hands were large and rough, and he hit hard. Harry quietened and let himself be spread open again without further protests, reeling a little at the sudden aggression. The second man pushed his dick inside in one smooth slide, and the first began fucking him in earnest once again.

It stung, the ache prevalent in his mind. It wasn't like he'd never taken two cocks before, but Mr Riddle was the sort to prepare him thoroughly, to make him come with his fingers until Harry was so loose and pliant that they both slipped in like a hand into a glove. He'd always wondered, of course, what it might be like to just push in like Tom sometimes did when he was impatient for a quick fuck, but he'd never actually asked for it.

And it hurt, he found. It hurt, but it felt so good that he began dripping, the fluid from his cock collecting at the head and slipping down his shaft in thick droplets. He shook as they fucked him, both of them carelessly now, impatient or perhaps just uncaring. They didn't mind him, he thought - he was but an object to them. It made a strange mix of arousal and longing bubble up in his stomach. He wanted so badly for his lovers to be there.

They finished inside him. The newcomer came first, and Harry wouldn't really have felt him cum if he didn't stop and make to pull out. The other man denied him sharply. "Stay there," he said, his nails biting crescents into Harry's hips. "I'm nearly there. Don't fuck it up for me."

So the other man stayed, pushing his mouth into Harry's jaw and flicking Harry's nipples like they were toys to fidget with. He hissed occasionally, presumably because his cock was sensitive after coming, but he bruised Harry's jaw and made his nipples feel so swollen he wondered if they didn't look like tits by now. He began thrusting quite passionately back onto the stranger.

When he came he slipped out, coming all over Harry's back instead of inside him. His come came in ropes, painting him from as high as his shoulders down to his arse and even the tops of his thighs. He seemed to come for minutes, his hand moving on his cock as of he could push out more with every slide of his hand. It seemed like forever before he was done.

When he was, he pushed Harry's left thigh up roughly, and shoved the plug in before walking away. When he was gone, the other man finally seemed to relax.

"Quite the arsehole, huh," he muttered. "But then I guess you like them like that." He kissed Harry, his tongue licking at Harry's stretched lips as if trying to push inside. Harry realised his own face was wet with drool, his chin soaked, his eyes damp with tears of frustration. He wondered if his cock looked as angry as it felt, as hungry as he felt. The man kissed him a little more, tucked himself back in and left quietly.

He didn't know how many more men - and occasional women, came by to fuck him. It all seemed to get lost in a daze, and by the end Harry was sobbing and panting for his lovers to come let him down, to let him come. At some point a woman had fingered him and watched him squirm with delight, rubbing against his prostate, but when he thought he might come she'd reached around and tightened the ribbon around his cock even more. Another time, a man had bitten and sucked at his thighs so hard he wondered if they weren't purple from all the bruising. But eventually Harry grew tired, his mind slipping into a haze where being used felt good, felt satisfying like nothing else ever could. He was being good for Mr Riddle, for Tom. They'd put him here to satisfy their guests and he was letting them fulfil all their desires on him.

He wanted them to come back, to let him down and tell him how proud they were. He wanted them to be happy with him.

They seemed to come after an age. Everything hurt but Tom's sigh when he saw him made every part of him perk up in response. Tom's fingers were gentle as they ran across his skin, but he pressed his thumbs into the scratches and bruises left behind purposefully, watching Harry gasp and wince in delight. Mr Riddle pressed a soft kiss into his hair, and untied the rope from around the tree. He almost fell when it loosened, his limbs far too weak to keep him up, but Tom caught him with a strong arm under his knees and another around his back, and pulled him close so that he could rest his head on Tom's shoulder.

The walk back was quiet. Tom smelled of expensive cologne, and the material against his cheek felt like his fancy suit jacket. He wondered if it wouldn't get dirty, covered in countless strangers' semen and spit, but Tom didn't seem to care. He walked up the stairs effortlessly, and deposited him on the soft sheets of their bed with care.

Mr Riddle immediately slipped behind his back, still dressed but for his own suit jacket. He threaded his fingers slowly through Harry's curls and pulled his head to the side, kissing at his neck so gently it almost seemed just to be a touch of lips to skin. Tom pressed in close to his front. "Do you think you could hold on a little longer, darling," he asked, but it wasn't really a question. He stroked fingers along the strap of Harry's gag. "Just for us?"

Harry nodded. He felt Mr Riddle's smile as it grew against his neck. The man reached down and slipped his own erection out, simultaneously pulling the plug out of Harry for the last time that night. Harry was coaxed down until he was bent over onto his knees, his head on Tom's lap as Mr Riddle pushed curious fingers into Harry's arse. He whistled.

"How many did you take, darling?" he asked, amusement thick in his voice. His fingers pushed deeper, sliding against the prostate with practiced ease. Harry mewled, jerked uncontrollably, and Mr Riddle finally took mercy on him. "I'm not usually one for sloppy seconds," he said, "but I suppose you're just too tempting to pass up." And he sheathed his cock into Harry's arse in one smooth slide.

Harry begged soundlessly, pushing his face eagerly into Tom's crotch. Mr Riddle started a steady, punishing pace, and despite the twinging of his arse Harry felt arousal burn through him again. His cock started leaking against his stomach, and he pushed his mouth at Tom's dick despite the gag in his mouth.

Tom sighed as if it were a hardship, but his wicked smile was evident in his voice. "Very well then," he said, and undid Harry's gag. He pulled his erection out and, without preamble, pushed Harry's head down onto it. Harry choked, his mouth full of dick and saliva and his jaw twinging from being open for so long and the bruises along his bones. He made himself to limp, relaxed his throat, and let Tom use his mouth like it was just a sleeve for his cock.

Tom thrust in enthusiastically. His fingers tightened in his hair, and he used his grip to pull Harry off and back down without a second thought. Harry felt so very full, so used - he was sloppy enough that every thrust of Mr Riddle's dick into his arse was accompanied by the shlick of excess cum. It slipped from his body and dropped down between his thighs, but Mr Riddle merely fucked him harder.

Tom's dick was soaked by the time he came, Harry drooling onto it and trying hard to breathe despite the cock down his throat. He thrust shallowly up into Harry's mouth, then held him tightly down until his nose was pressed into his public hair, coming down his throat. Mr Riddle came around the same time, adding gladly to the mess inside Harry, and pulled out with a wet, filthy pop. When Harry was finally allowed off Tom's dick, the first words he said were "please".

His lips were swollen. Tom pressed the tip of his finger into the bottom lip hard, then slid them along the bottom. "Please what, sweetheart?" he asked, and although Harry was exhausted he managed to push himself up until he lay back against Mr Riddle, his legs spread as wide as they could go. His cock hurt, tender enough that he thought it must be purple by now.

He wanted to come so bad he thought he'd do anything for just a touch. "Please," he sobbed again, his voice hoarse, his eyes wet enough to dampen the thick blindfold. "Let me come, I'll do anything-"

He choked on his own words when Tom's mouth surrounded him - wet, hot heaven. His lover sucked him down like it was no effort, and sucked Harry hard enough to make him cry out ardently. He was so close, so nearly there, his hands scrabbling for reach on Mr Riddle's thigh where they were tied behind him as he thrust up desperately. Mr Riddle finally had mercy on him - he reached down and undid the ribbon in one smooth pull, and Harry came with such force that he lost all awareness of where he was.

When he came to, his hands were untied and Mr Riddle's strong, firm hands were working into his shoulders attentively. His blindfold was off, he realised - he opened his eyes to see the bathroom lit dimly, and Tom sitting in the bathtub before him. He smiled fondly at Harry, dipping the soapy sponge into bathwater and running it along Harry's chest. He bent his head and kissed his nipples, red and sore as they were, before moving up towards his collarbone. Harry watched lazily, unable to do more than appreciate how pretty Tom looked in the flickering candlelight.

He loved them so much.

Mr Riddle reached down to pull his thigh up and Tom started on his calf, his movements gentle and thorough. He watched until his eyes slipped back closed, finding it harder to open them again every time he blinked. He felt Mr Riddle push his lips into Harry's wet hair, felt him reach to take one of Harry's wrists in each hand, felt Tom kiss his calf before moving onto his knee.

"Sleep, darling," Mr Riddle said quietly. His voice was incredibly low, his chest rumbling against Harry's back with the shape of his words. He closed his eyes obediently, and let himself fall back into unconsciousness.


	10. Double Stuffed

**Double Stuffed**

Words: 6,780  
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter/Cedric Diggory  
Beta: LittleMissSketch  
Warnings: Crying? Oh and age difference

* * *

As soon as Harry entered the apartment, he headed for the bedroom. The clock on the bedside table read 4:19 - Tom would arrive soon, and Harry would need to be ready and waiting in about half an hour. He stripped in a hurry, leaving clothes carelessly on the thick carpeting. Tom would probably scold him for that if he ever saw, but Harry could think of little else but the evening ahead. The clothes could always be tidied up later.

The shower was done within minutes, and before long Harry was walking out of the bathroom naked and wet. Opening the wardrobe as he rubbed his hair dry with one hand, he reached for a large box on the top shelf and pulled it out carefully. Inside lay a variety of collars in all sorts of shapes, colours and sizes - posture collars, pet collars and other such, most of them made of smooth, thick leather. His fingers ran over the options as if he was considering them, but Harry had been told by Tom which to wear, just like he'd been told exactly how to finger himself open, and what time Tom would be arriving by.

He slipped the leather over his neck. It was tough, it's shape wider than most of Harry's collars and dark in colour, but it was by far his favourite. He liked it when Tom had to kiss and bite around the edge of it, leaving a pale strip of unbruised skin around his neck to contrast with the marks left behind. He liked the way the ache of Tom's bites spread along his skin, even to where the red wasn't visible, but most of all he liked the way it looked like he was still collared after, like Tom had somehow made him his _outside_ of their play.

His eyes slid to the clock again - 4:31. Leaving the collar on the bed he stood up and pushed the box back into its place, shutting the wardrobe with a decisive _click_. Hurriedly he tidied the room, folding his clothes and opening the door wide, just as Tom had asked.

In the bedside drawer he found a bottle of lube, open, which he set beside him before he let himself drop to his knees beside the bed. He bent over and then slid further, until his cheek was pressed into the rug and his arse was in the air. His breath came in soft gasps as he wet his fingers and pushed one into his arse hole.

The room felt cold. He knew it wasn't, but even so the slightest draft from the open door chilled his bare skin, and as Harry worked himself slowly open he wondered what it might be like for somebody to walk past the open door and see him, his knees wide and his fingers as deep as they'd go inside his own body. He added more lube until he felt wet, wide open and slick, until he felt like Tom could walk in, unzip his trousers and just slide right in.

His cock hind hard between his legs already. Harry didn't touch it. Instead he pushed and twisted, trying almost unconsciously to touch his own prostate. He knew he couldn't, not in this position, but nevertheless a part of him _wanted_ -

But his gaze fell upon the click again, and he realised it was _time_. An involuntary whimper left him as he forced himself to stop, to straighten back up onto his knees. He felt so wide open, so _loose_ , and Tom wasn't even home. How could he stand the wait that came? His left hand grasped at his tight wrist behind his back almost as if to prevent him from shoving his fingers back inside himself. He breathed in, out, speed his own mind down, and he bowed his head to wait.

It was quiet. At first, Harry could hear nothing but his own breath, but as it calmed and slowed he found he could hear the birds outside the window, chirping in the afternoon sun. He could hear the cars passing by, the revving engines, the occasional pedestrian chatting as they happened by the front door. His mind sank into the world around him like it was a warm bath, until he felt so separate from himself that he could barely feel the chill of his skin.

His knees started to feel tender - he was sure they had gone pink from the weight of his entire body, small indents impressed into skin from the rug beneath him, and his nape ached with the uncomfortable position of his head. It felt almost distant, like it was happening to another person, and it was with the same distance that Harry wondered how long it had been. Shouldn't Tom have gotten off work?

Had he lied to Harry about what time he'd be home?

It wouldn't have been the first time - Tom often liked to throw Harry off in many different ways, and staying later or showing up earlier than expected was just one more way to play with him. It didn't matter either - Tom would know if Harry had moved, if he'd deviated in any way from the routine he'd set out for Harry. He always did, somehow, just by looking at Harry's face as he asked - as if some habit of his or even the look in his eyes would tell Tom if he sought to deceive him.

It sometimes frightened Harry how transparent he must be to Tom, how utterly unable he was to lie to Tom, but at the same time it felt oddly comforting. He would never have to worry about anything - not whether Tom would he mad, or whether he'd be disappointed, or even whether to tell Tom at all - because Tom would find out whatever Harry was hiding either way. It felt like that removed the responsibility from Harry's shoulders. It felt like that meant he was free from the need to ever decide.

It seemed like forever before he heard the key on the lock, the front door opening. He heard Tom's footsteps, his fancy shoes clacking sharply against the wood flooring of the entranceway as he entered. He heard him turning, presumably to lock the door behind him, but then-

Was that a second set of footsteps? He felt terribly hot all of a sudden, as if someone had dumped boiling water down his back. He wondered, briefly, if he'd imagined it, but as the door closed he heard the low murmuring of Tom speaking, and the distinct reply of another person.

His stomach dropped, and he began to tremble. Had Tom forgotten about today, brought home a dinner guests from work as he occasionally did? It would be odd if he had - Tom was the sort to always plan these evenings meticulously around their busy schedules. He'd even reminded Harry this very morning of their plans, so that he wouldn't stay overtime again accidentally as he was wont to do. His memory was impeccable - he couldn't _possibly_ have forgotten.

And yet, as Harry kneeled merely one floor up, he heard the unmistakable sound of the kettle switching on.

Tom had brought home a guest.

He panicked for a long moment, the feeling oddly hazy and yet sharp at the same time. Should he get up, he wondered as he remained still. Should he get dressed, go downstairs, greet their guest? Perhaps he'd mistaken the day, or perhaps Tom _had_ , surprisingly, forgotten. It was unlikely, yes, but then again Tom _was_ human - it wasn't impossible for it to have slipped his mind.

He debated staying versus abandoning his position. Surely Tom would have realised that Harry was home by now; his shoes were on the shoes rack in the entrance hall, his keys on the hook by the door, his coat on the hanger by the stairs. What if he called Harry to come downstairs? What if he was, at this very moment, wondering why Harry hadn't shown up to say hello to his guest?

On the other hand, perhaps this was just a minor wrench in Tom's plans - a colleague who'd taken the liberty of inviting himself over for an 'important conversation' - it had happened before, though rarely, because Tom was good at deflecting that kind of attention. And even when somebody managed to force their way along, Tom usually got rid of them within minutes. Harry ought only to be patient. No doubt Tom would be disappointed if he panicked so easily and moved from his position.

No, he'd wait. Tom knew what he was doing, and it wasn't as if his guest would come upstairs for any reason. It was fine - Harry would wait here, like he'd been asked to, and if Tom called him down there was no reason he couldn't dress in a hurry and pretend he'd been in the bathroom or something.

With his brief moment of anxiety over with, Harry once again settled into a calm. He tried to focus on the way his fingers felt around his wrist, or the smallest, most imperceptible shivers of his shoulders, but he couldn't help his attention from drifting towards the quiet conversation in the sitting room.

It was impossible to make out words no matter how Harry tried - it seemed the door had been shut because all he could only hear was incomprehensible mumbling. Tom seemed perfectly at ease, his voice slow and calm. The stranger seemed much warmer, laughing much more readily. Harry wondered what they spoke of, imagined up little nonsense scenarios in his head, and became so lost in the familiar timbre and pitch of Tom's voice that he almost didn't realise when the sitting room door opened.

Tom fell silent. He began his slow walk up the stairs, his every step a thud in Harry's mind, and Harry tensed expectantly. With his head bowed he couldn't see the door, but he knew the distance from the bedroom to the landing, and anticipated the moment Tom's eyes would fall upon his naked figure with relish.

There was silence. He trembled as Tom came to a standstill somewhere behind him, the man's presence like a weight on his back. It was times like this, he thought, that he remembered how much older this man was, how much more experienced. He squeezed his eyes shut as the seconds dragged in, eyes blinking open to focus on the unmarked skin of his thighs. He imagined they'd gone paler with the cold, then wondered if he'd imagined that.

The room seemed to grow larger the longer Tom stood still. His breathing was the only sound in Harry's ears, his own so quiet he may as well not be breathing at all. He tried to judge the distance between their bodies when suddenly, Tom ran his finger along the bottom edge of his collar.

He gasped - he couldn't help it. His eyes shut again as Tom stepped closer, so close Harry felt like he could feel the brush of his sleeve, the warmth from his body along his back. Tom kept his silence, as his hand roamed the shape of his collar, the curve of his nape, the way it blended into the line of his shoulders. His thumb found the bone at the top of his spine - a little bump under his skin, and pressed. He pressed, harder, harder, and then moved away so quickly that it for like a ghost still pushed at his skin there, trying to crawl under his very skin.

"Oh sweetheart," he said, and his voice seemed like the roaring of a waterfall in Harry's ears. "You've done _well_."

Harry's breath shuddered in his chest but he didn't reply. He didn't need to. Tom clicked his fingers thoughtfully and then made his way around, slowly, until he sat on the bed before Harry with his legs spread wide. Harry couldn't help but look at the swelling between his legs, Tom's erection prominent even through his slacks. His elbows rested causally on his thighs, his hands loose and casual, and Harry felt the overwhelming desire to lean forward and put his mouth on Tom. Distantly, he realised his own cock was hardening, but he felt a little lost in the fantasy of Tom's dick, entwined with the memory of some past tryst.

He knew what it would look like too, what it would feel like. He'd memorised the taste of it, heavy on his tongue, the shape of it pressing down his throat until he couldn't breathe. ' _It would be so easy_ ', he wanted to say. ' _Let me suck you_ ', he wanted to beg.

But he didn't. Tom pushed his face up until Harry was looking up at him, his smug face, his eyes dark with lust and mirth. "You're such a slut," Tom breathed. "I don't even have to do anything - you drive yourself mad without any help."

His fingers tightened on Harry's chin, and then slid around his head to curl into his hair in a sudden shift of softness. "Go on then," he said, as if he were a benevolent king bestowing some sort of twisted mercy upon his subject. And when Harry didn't move, he pulled his head closer harshly, until Harry's nose pushed into the bulge between his legs.

"Go on," he repeated. His voice was much more forceful now, much less generous. "I don't want to have to tell you again."

His hands rushed to open Tom's fly and reach inside, his mouth already wet with hunger. Tom was warm and thick in his hand, his cock pink and flushed and ready for Harry. He pulled it out gently, and before he could even take it all the way out his tongue was licking at the underside. He moaned, almost unconsciously, and moved forward desperately to mouth at the head.

Above him, Tom laughed. His hand tightened in Harry's hair but he did not stop him, instead scratching softly at Harry's scalp. It made him want to melt, the feeling was so good, but when torn between Tom's hand and his cock, well. There was no competition, really.

He pushed down, licking and sucking at the head of Tom's cock before taking in a little more, steadily, until he was about halfway down. He kept himself there for a long moment, his lips tightening around Tom's shaft, before he let himself rise back up.

Tom sighed, his legs spreading eagerly as he melted into Harry, into the sensation of his mouth. Harry felt warmth blooming in his chest at his lover's obvious pleasure and pushed down again, this time taking in more. His mouth was wet around Tom's cock, greedy for it, and Tom knew. He brushed the hair out of Harry's face, mouth wide and eyes wider, and thrust his cock up into Harry's mouth.

Harry choked, hands flying straight to strong thighs, but Tom didn't let up. His pressed his dick into Harry's mouth until it was at Harry's throat, until his mouth was wrapped around the very base and his nose pushed into thick, wiry hair. His throat convulsed around Tom's cock until he felt bruised and tender inside. He wondered what it would be like if Tom came right now, straight down his throat. There would be no swallowing or spitting - only taking what he was given like a good boy. Harry would have that choice taken away from him. The idea of it made him want it more, made his lips move desperately around the shape of Tom's erection like he could squeeze his orgasm out of him.

He let himself be held there, and when Tom was satisfied with his lack of protest he dragged him back up like he was a toy and not a person. Like he was _born_ to be used by Tom, to bring him pleasure on his own terms. His mouth hung open, his lips undoubtedly red and slick. Tom rubbed his thumb gently along the bottom lip, and then lead his dick to rest against his tongue once more.

"Keep your mouth open," he said, his voice huskier now. He ran the tip along his tongue, around his mouth, like he was painting Harry's mouth with his presence. His cock was still slick with Harry saliva, and he couldn't help but wonder if it felt as cold as Harry's back. He wondered if Tom was going to fuck his mouth properly.

He didn't. Instead, he pulled at Harry's hair until he was forced to stand, and then told him to get onto the bed. "Hands and knees, dear," he elaborated when Harry sat down next to him. "You know how I like you best."

Then he left. Harry heard him rummaging around in the closet, felt as the bed dipped under his weight once more. His hand, when it fell between his shoulder blades, was a shock that made his shoulders rise up. Tom merely pushed until his chest touched the bedding, and then - in one smooth, effortless movement, grabbed his hands to meet behind his back. Tom wrapped the smooth silk around his wrists with an ease that came only from experience, and then left him lying there. Alone.

His face was pressed against his pillow so that Harry had to move his head to one side to breathe. He pulled at the knot purely out of habit. As usual, it held fast.

The stairs creaked under Tom's weight. He wondered what the older man was going to do, and it was with a sudden shock that he remembered the stranger that had come home with Tom. Was he still there? Had he ever even _left_? He cast his mind back, trying to remember Tom leading the man out, but the space where that should've been was blank. Had Harry really become so lost in Tom that he'd forgotten the stranger sitting, waiting downstairs whilst he sucked Tom's cock?

He tensed more and more with every thought that passed through his mind. With the way the bed was placed, his back was facing the doorway. And as he heard Tom make his way back up to the first floor, accompanied by a second person, he became increasingly aware of how the first thing this man would see was his arse, slicked open and pushed high, ready to be fucked. It made him tremble, the thought that some stranger would see him so vulnerable, so _open_ , and that this voyeurism would be by Tom's own hand. A confusing feeling for sure - he wasn't entirely certain as to whether he felt more ashamed, or more proud that Tom thought him good enough to show off, _impressive_ enough to share.

The man entered the room and inhaled sharply, audibly. Tom laughed low in his throat, and murmured "isn't he as beautiful as I promised?" He walked straight over the Harry, pulling his legs apart demonstratingly and pushing a thumb into his arse without warning. Harry cried out, and the stranger laughed as if confronted with something he found very pleasing.

"Indeed you did, Mr Riddle," he admitted. His voice was softer than Tom's, like it was used to kinder words, but also ruthless in the way Tom's profession required. Harry heard him walk over to the bed, sit down beside him and bend over until his shadow fell over Harry's face. "I should have known you'd never disappoint me," he added, as if the closer view had cemented his favourable opinion.

Tom chuckled, pleased. He sat himself behind Harry, his crotch pushing at Harry's arse. Harry realised he was still clothed - that both of them were probably clothed, and that he was completely naked in comparison. A small part of him wanted them to fuck him like that.

Instead, he tried to turn his head to look at the stranger. He was wearing slacks and an office shirt, just like Tom usually did, but his blazer was missing and his tie loose enough to slip over his head without effort. Harry couldn't quite see his face, but he could tell the man had dark hair that curled around his face prettily.

He was distracted by the sound of Tom taking off his shirt, and flushed when he realised he'd been eyeing a man other than his lover _in front_ of his lover. Of course, the circumstances were rather odd, but nonetheless the realisation that he'd been checking out another person so shamelessly while Tom watched on made him want to hide his face.

"Oh Harry," Tom said, as if he knew exactly what Harry was thinking. "Did you think I'd ever let someone _undeserving_ see you like this?" And then, "introduce yourself then."

For a second Harry thought Tom was talking to him, and even opened his mouth to reply, but then the man was pulling his cock out of his pants and pressing it _just_ between his lips, saying "hello" like they were meeting over coffee, like he wasn't spread naked in front of a stranger like a whore.

The man paused a second, as if looking to Tom for permission, before he began gently pushing in and out of Harry's mouth. "I'm Cedric," he said, fucking his mouth slowly, never pushing in more than a few inches. "But you, sweet boy, can call me Mr Diggory."

And then he let Harry rest his cheek on his thigh, mouth full of cock, and stroked his cheek like he was a pet. "We ought to respect our elders, after all."

Tom agreed. "Yes," he said, "he's always such a darling. Let's me do anything I'd ever want, isn't that right Harry?"

Cedric pulled Harry away so that he could nod, his mouth feeling surprisingly empty. "Yes sir," he answered. He surprised himself with how hoarse it was. Tom seemed pleased, and rewarded him by pressing the tip of his dick to Harry's arse.

"I suppose that you'd like me to fuck you now," he purred. "One dick's not enough, is it?" He pushed in some, pressing inside just enough to make him whine at the stretch.

"Tom," he moaned, and realised his mistake when Tom pulled back out to slap his arse hard. He cried out at the sting, Mr Diggory's dick pressed to his mouth, and said "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please fuck me sir."

Tom bent over him until his chest pressed against every part of Harry's back. "I don't think you want it badly enough, Harry," he whispered. In a flurry of movement he pulled Harry up, sitting him over his dick but not on it so that it pressed along the line of his arse. Mr Diggory moved to take off his shirt, revealing beautiful golden skin over hard muscle, and when Tom pulled Harry's legs to spread over his own, he realised his lover had stripped his own off too whilst he'd been distracted.

He slid his erection along the cleft of Harry's arse with purpose, teasing him. "I know you like a dick in your mouth Harry," he was saying, "I know you like sucking cock more than perhaps anything. But I don't think you deserve it." He beckoned at Mr Diggory to come closer until his chest was pressed against Harry's own, until they both surrounded him like a vice, blocking off escape, until there was nothing in the world except them pressed against him.

"I think I'd rather see you stuffed, anyway." Tom's voice was dark with promise, with wicked intentions. Harry's breath stuttered in his chest, and he groped back desperately for Tom, his hands reaching despite being tied up. He managed a hold on Tom's bicep, tenuous and weak but comforting. Grounding. Tom pressed his nose into his neck, just above the line if his collar, and pulled his legs up and apart to reveal his hole to Mr Diggory's eyes.

He'd never felt so exposed before - not really. Mr Diggory took advantage of his position easily and without shame. "Well, if you insist," he laughed, as if Harry had offered himself up on a platter, and for a split second Harry thought that he probably laughed like that in the office as well. The image made him oddly flustered, that he could see Mr Diggory in public laughing the same laugh he did when he sat between Harry's legs.

Mr Diggory dragged the tip of his dick down Harry's hole, and when Harry tried to push forward eagerly Tom held him still. "You'll get what you are given," he said, a command. "Not an inch more."

And then, pressing his lips to Harry's ear like it was a secret, he whispered, "and not an inch less."

Mr Diggory didn't fuck him. Instead, Tom pushed in without preamble, thrusting in all the way until Harry sat, full with Tom's cock. He cried out, his eyes wide, and Mr Diggory laughed when his eyes burned.

"I bet you've taken that and more," he said. "You won't get any sympathy from me, not even if you blink your pretty eyes at me like that." His mouth was suddenly closer, close enough that their lips touched when he spoke. A part of Harry wanted to fall forward and kiss him - after all, Mr Diggory had very pretty lips, but Tom's teeth dug into his nape like he was some kind of animal, and Harry knew a warning when he felt it.

"Cedric, dear friend," Tom called, his voice sharp. "Won't you help Harry?"

Mr Diggory's smile became a little more fixed, a little less real. His hands, when they curled about his hips, were less than kind, and Harry was sure he'd have bruises there by the morning. He didn't reply, but lifted Harry up slowly, steadily - like he was a doll and not a fully grown adult. He lifted him up, until only the head of Tom's dick remained pushing his arse open, and then fucked him _down_.

He whined loudly, wanting more of the burn, the weight of Tom inside him, the mouth on his skin. He wanted Tom to leave marks all over him, so that tomorrow not an inch of his naked body remained unsullied. Cedric pulled him up again, fucking him down faster and harder until they were both panting, their mouths close together, their eyes locked onto one another's.

He felt himself rising, his arse tightening around Tom's dick like a vice. He was going to come, he just needed one more push, one more brush of his cock against Mr Diggory's stomach but-

Tom's hands fell over Mr Diggory's and stopped his movement, so completely that Harry remained frozen where he was halfway down Tom's cock. "I promised you more, didn't I?" Tom let go again, and though Harry tried to fall back down, Cedric remained frozen where he'd been left. His dick curved, hard and angry and drooling, up towards his stomach. It was beautiful, and Harry wanted it back in his mouth but he knew, as Tom spread him open again, that he wasn't going to get it. He knew, even as he refused to admit it, what Tom's plans for the afternoon were.

Mr Diggory pressed closer, and his cock pushed at Harry's already full hole. Harry's breath caught in his chest, uncertain whether he was afraid or eager or just reluctant. He already felt so full, his hole so stretched - how could he take any more without just ripping in two? How could he possibly fit a second, rather sizable dick inside himself without tearing?

And yet there was an odd hunger inside him, an empty, wretched mouth greedy for more. He wanted to be wrecked, wanted to feel like he'd been taken apart and put back together the way Tom wanted him to be, the way he'd been intended for. He wanted to ache for days and days afterwards, to be reminded with every step of the way that Tom had shared him, and yet still owned him as completely as he owned his own breaths.

So when Mr Diggory pushed inside, stretching him impossibly, making him feel like he'd shatter, he begged for more. He pushed his head into the space between Tom's shoulder and neck and bared his own in the process, showing off his collar as he pleaded " _more, more, fuck me harder, oh I'm so full of you._ " He pushed his heels into Mr Diggory's back, and sobbed overwhelmed cries into Tom's skin.

It hurt deliciously. Tom grinned into his hair, pleased, and then kissed Harry full on the mouth for it. "I knew you could take it," he said, his voice oddly breathy. Harry thrilled at the thought that he too might be overwhelmed, that Harry was _making_ him sound that way.

And then Mr Diggory slipped all the way in, his erection pressing tightly against Tom's inside the clenching of his body, and Tom said "you're perfect, my sweet boy," and he said "I've never known a slut as hungry for cock as you are."

His eyes were wet with tears and they kept coming, his chest aching from the way he couldn't breathe properly, his stomach so full it felt like he'd burst with the weight inside him. Mr Diggory fucked into him slowly, shallow thrusts that made Tom hiss in pleasure and made Harry's arse twinge, and when his shoulders shook and Harry realised he was _wailing_.

Mr Diggory's eyes were wide, a surprisingly naked amazement in them. His thumbs wiped at the tears on Harry's skin softly, like they were doing from gold, and he made to lick at the wetness. His tongue was pink, his eyes warm, but even as Harry watched with an odd anticipation, Tom's fingers wrapped around Mr Diggory's wrist slowly. From the way Mr Diggory's eyes darkened , the way his mouth turned at the corners, Harry knew Tom wasn't looking away. He pulled Mr Diggory's hand towards himself, over Harry's shoulder - and even as Harry watched with hooded eyes - licked at the skin there.

Mr Diggory's hips gave an involuntary thrust as he did. Harry could see why - nobody could resist Tom like this, his lips wet and his hair tousled. Not even someone like Mr Diggory, who most likely held a sort of detached, polite respect for Tom but no fondness. Tom had that effect on people, after all. He was handsome, _beautiful_ , and not even his enemies could resist him when he smiled at them just _so_. He was magnetic even as he was cruel, objectively careless, his stare dispassionate as he judged those around him coldly.

And yet, nobody except for him had ever seen his Tom like _this_ \- lips red from biting them, cock hard and slick and _eager_ for Harry. Nobody had ever seen the way he closed his eyes when he came, the way his voice went all rough when he fucked, the filth that spewed out of his mouth when Harry pleased him - nobody but Harry, and yet this man was not only allowed to watch, he was allowed to make that _happen_. He was allowed to push his cock tight against Tom's, make him shudder with every thrust, make eyes at him and watch him come undone. It should make Harry jealous, he thought. It should make him want Mr Diggory _gone_.

And yet, as Harry watched Mr Diggory's mouth fall open, as he watched the man's hand tremble in Tom's grasp, he felt oddly _proud_. He felt pleased, watching the effect that Tom had on his co-worker, like it proved something. Like the idea of Mr Diggory knowing _exactly_ what he would be missing was _gratifying_.

He leant forward and pushed his mouth into Mr Diggory's.

He kissed beautifully, Harry thought, perhaps as if to match his beautiful mouth. He licked into Harry's mouth and pushed against Harry's tongue, and moved his lips like it was an art form. Harry imagined he could kiss Mr Diggory lazily, for hours without tiring. The thought was unbearably domestic, _romantic_ , and it made Harry flush with shameful want.

He couldn't think about this now.

Tom's grip tightened around his waist, his nails sharp on sensitive skin, but he didn't stop Harry. Instead he bit at Harry's neck, painting a line along the bottom of his collar like it was a stencil. He began moving, steady, his hips pumping in and out of Harry, but though he couldn't reach like before the sheer fullness, the pressure and friction, made Harry cry out into Mr Diggory's mouth.

He laughed, and began moving as well. It felt messy, like it didn't matter so much how they moved except that they moved, that the pushed themselves as deep as they could into Harry like it was some kind of competition. Harry felt like they'd imprint themselves into his body, together, so that he'd never again be able to forget what it was like to be stuffed to the brim.

He ached with the pressure, his limbs loose and wide and his face a mess of tears and flushed skin and bruised lips. He leaned back and mouthed at Tom's jaw, at the soft skin just under the bone, pushing himself down like he'd die if Tom didn't give it to him right now. "Oh _please_ sir," he whined softly, sweetly, like he knew Tom liked. "Oh _give it to me_ ," because he knew he'd only be allowed to come after Tom had. Instead, Tom grabbed his collar from the back, pushing his fingers between leather and skin until it was tight around the front of his throat, until his breathing became shallower.

Tom fucked him harder, Mr Diggory moving in tandem, leaving Harry to gasp until he felt his vision going dark. His body felt like it was on hyper alert, like he could feel every inch of dick as it dragged against his insides. His body throbbed in every place Tom had scratched him, every place his teeth had pushed marks into his skin, and he felt dizzy with the delicious, burning _ache_ of it. Distantly, he realised that his face was wet with tears anew, that his mouth and chin were wet with spit, but he couldn't focus on anything but the intense pressure inside his head. His eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth open desperately for oxygen, and then Tom let go.

The sudden rush of air felt like an abrupt sort of freedom, like he hadn't quite realised how heavy the weight on his throat had gotten. He gulped at it greedily, and when his eyes adjusted to the sunlight in the room he saw Mr Diggory, smiling widely - almost gleefully.

"Never done that before, Riddle?" he asked, never slowing the movement of his hips. Harry was just his insides were battered by now. He was sure his cock must be turning purple from lack of touch.

Tom moved his head just _so_ , making it so that Harry's brow would push into the side if his neck. "Just so, Diggory," he replied. "I think I might try it more often, explore it properly sometime." And then, turning his head so that his chin pushed into Harry remembered, said, "what do _you_ think?"

Harry tilted his neck, pressed soft and desperate kissed into Tom's collarbone like they were offerings, like they were little prayers. "Please," me mumbled, then louder, " _please_."

And well, Tom was a man after all, weak to Harry's wet, teary eyes and his desperate voice begging for his seed. He fucked into Harry harder, until it felt like he was just a ragdoll being moved as Tom pleased. Mr Diggory sped up too, and when Tom came the man growled - surprisingly aggressive - and moved him off their dicks to bend Harry over Tom's thigh.

Then he pushed in again, his every thrust slick with Tom's come, the sound of his fucking so very _filthy_ that Harry wanted to cry again. "You're so loose," Tom laughed, and petted him softly like his words weren't meant to be sharp, merely truthful. Like he couldn't help if Harry was a little tart. "I wonder how my friend here is even supposed to get off with you so _used_."

Harry whined, his mouth opening around the skin of Tom's thigh and sucking, biting, as if it were a twisted comfort of some sort. Tom laughed again, even as Mr Diggory became more eager to reach his orgasm. "What's the use of you, if you can't even help my friends lose a little steam?" he asked. "You're so sloppy, darling, such a mess. How do you suppose to get him off?"

And Harry tried to clench, tried to tighten around Mr Diggory, but he felt so loose, so _open_ , that it felt like he'd never be able to forget it.

He felt so very messy, Tom's come dripping out of him with every thrust of Mr Diggory's hips. He sped up until Harry was letting out a constant " _uh, uh, uh_ " with every thrust, and yet still he couldn't come.

Eventually, frustrated with being so close, Mr Diggory pulled out and wrapped his fingers around his own cock, his hand moving furiously. Harry barely had time to look back, confused, before Mr Diggory was coming all over his back.

He wanked himself even through his own orgasm, painting Harry's hips and arse and upper thighs for several long moments before he was finally done. All Harry could think of was how attractive he looked with red high in his cheeks.

Mr Diggory smiled at him, rather hazily, and leaned back into the pillows somewhere behind him. Tom also relaxed, looking for all the world like he was done. His eyes began to close, and his hand slowed where it petted Harry's hair.

Had they forgotten about him? He waited for Tom to give him permission to come, to reach down and touch him - just once, just enough to let him come, but no. The man just lay there, looking for all the world like he was done for the evening.

Harry couldn't help it. He sat up, pushed his cheek into Tom's shoulder, and whined.

Immediately, Tom's lips widened in a wicked smirk, as if he'd been waiting for Harry to give in. One eye slipped open teasingly, and then the other, so that Tom was looking at him lazily. "If you want to get off, my darling boy, you'll need to do it yourself." He gestured at his thigh magnanimously, as if he was doing Harry an honour. "I suppose I can let you use my leg."

And what a beautiful leg it was, perfectly muscled, hard and thick. Even as he grew older, Tom had worked to maintain his strength and abilities. The result was a thigh that Harry could easily straddle, his cock pushing against the soft skin and hard muscle deliciously.

He thrust, his hips sliding a little uncomfortably until he was pushing hard, the friction heavenly against this poor cock. He fucked himself against Tom's thigh like a dog in heat, and when he felt himself starting to come he dared to press a kiss into the corner of Tom's lazy smirk.

His lover wrapped a strong, warm hand around his left hip, his thumb moving in circles, and Harry came all over his thigh with every muscle straining.

Immediately after, Harry fell against Tom's shoulder, and it was in this sleepy daze that he felt himself being cleaned up, his collar slipped of his neck and his arms untied easily. Tom lay him down and let him curl close, tucked between two warm bodies of men both older and bigger than him. He remembered thinking, vaguely, that it was surprising Mr Diggory was allowed to stay. Tom didn't seem the sort to let a temporary partner stay, though of course he couldn't say this with any certainty - this was, after all, their first encounter of the sort.

And yet Mr Diggory was in their bed, his arms around Harry and his hand pushed between Tom's arm and side, and Harry imagine what it might be like to wake up to Mr Diggory tomorrow. He wondered what it might be like to wake up to Mr Diggory after _that_ , again and again. He wondered what it might be like to have dinner sometime, the three of them, and he found he rather liked the idea of that.


	11. Fine Dining

**Fine Dining**

Words: 4,696  
Pairing: Tom Riddle Sr/Harry Potter  
Beta: Miraculous  
Warnings: Public sex, very minor het

* * *

Despite walking in from the night-darkened streets, the lighting seemed a little too dim at first. The restaurant was lined with darker woods and burgundy upholstery, the lights a warm orange that took some getting used to, but despite its warm atmosphere it was undeniably _expensive_. Harry felt a little awkward in such a high-end place but Mr Riddle simply sauntered in as if he'd been before. Then again, Harry had realised he walked into every establishment like that.

They were seated rather quickly, and before Harry knew it they were ensconced somewhere in a comfortable corner. It felt almost like they were the only two people in the establishment, except that Harry only had to crane his neck a little in order to see wealthy men and women, sitting around clinking wine glasses and involved in polite conversation. He felt a little jittery, but then Mr Riddle's hand curled around his bicep comfortingly, and he felt calmer instantly.

Soon, it was almost like he'd forgotten how outclassed he was, how new his perfectly tailored suit was, how much money his appetiser alone had cost. Mr Riddle was riveting, fascinating and intelligent, and conversation flowed between them like water down a healthy stream. They talked about how Harry's classes were going, about a new movie he really wanted to watch, and even a little about Tom. Harry became a little quieter at this point, but Mr Riddle smiled and told him, "we really ought to have dinner together sometime, the three of us," and his leer made Harry flush with confusion. He couldn't help but feel like he was missing something unsaid in Mr Riddle's suggestiveness.

He was energetically describing how Ron had yet again managed to put his foot in his mouth and gotten into an argument with Hermione over ketchup vs sweet chilli when Mr Riddle, without any warning, touched his hand. His and was warm and large and bigger than Harry's, but his touch was gentle. He fondled Harry's wrist, and then trailed his warm, long fingers along the side of Harry's wrists and down to the tip of his pinkie, so slowly that Harry didn't even realise he'd stopped to watch. His breathing sped up the tiniest bit and he felt warm, like perhaps the heating had turned up too high. Mr Riddle's slightest movements were so captivating that, even as Harry watched, the distant sound of other patrons seemed to disappear.

Then the waitress stepped up with their main course, and Mr Riddle pulled away as if he'd merely gotten a little enthusiastic in their conversation.

Harry knew he'd gone red in the face. He sat, staring at his fancy pasta and tried to calm down, but all he could think of was Mr Riddle coming in to check on him and Tom as they did their work, asking them if they needed anything. He remembered Tom later telling him how unusual that was, a scowl on his pretty face, and the confusion that warmed in Harry's stomach at the understanding that he was somehow _different_. He remembered Mr Riddle's hands along his shoulders, how he leant in close to tell Harry about the paintings in the main hallway, how low his voice was as he told him about such and such an author and their works, his mouth brushing Harry's ears so intimately it felt perverse to share it with his best friend's father.

He thought about Mr Riddle inviting him in for a cup of tea when Tom hadn't come home yet, sitting close enough that their thighs touched, and the way he called him a good boy, a pretty boy, asked him, "so what's going on between you and my son?"

Told him, as he flushed and denied anything beyond friendship, "he'd _be_ so lucky to land one as pretty as you."

He'd come when Mr Riddle had invited him, and perhaps he'd convinced himself of innocence, but as he watched Mr Riddle's mouth wrap around his fork, he understood without a doubt that the man had ulterior motives. He wasn't surprised to realise that he didn't really mind.

Without his even noticing they'd begun to flirt, and Harry found himself rather boldly toeing off his left shoe so that he could trail his socked foot down Mr. Riddle's calf teasingly. The man breathed in sharply—his dark eyes flashing dangerously. Harry just smiled angelically back at him as the young, pretty waitress approached. The two refused to break eye-contact even as she came to stand by their table.

"Anything for dessert, sirs?" she asked. Harry could hear the awkward stilt in her voice. He imagined she was blushing, and it only made him smile wider. He opened his mouth to order when Mr Riddle's voice cut in smoothly.

"Tiramisu," he said, and Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"What if I don't want any tiramisu," he commented before the waitress could leave. She froze, unsure, and perhaps Harry would have felt bad if he wasn't so preoccupied with this new... _dimension_ of their relationship.

Mr. Riddle tapped his chin in a show of thoughtfulness before leisurely leaning back in his chair. "But Harry dear," he said, his voice honey his countenance one of ease. "You'll need something strong to wash the taste of my come out of your mouth."

Harry flushed, his cheeks heating to a light pink, but he never lost the smirk. "Who says _I'll_ be the one with come in their mouth?" he quipped.

Riddle's mouth worked oddly, almost as if he was going to jump over the table to shove Harry to his knees, but just then the poor waitress squeaked in such embarrassment that Harry turned his smile to her. "Tiramisu then," he conceded. "After all, _someone_ will need the strong taste."

She hurried off without even writing it down on her little notepad. Harry supposed it didn't really matter—she wasn't soon going to forget the little show they'd put on for her, so there wasn't much fear of being given the wrong order. Mr Riddle tapped on the table then, his nail sharp on the glossy dark wood, and Harry's attention shifted onto him as if he was trained to do so.

Perhaps, over the course of their acquaintance, he had been.

He smiled, knew he looked pretty when he leaned his chin in his palm and blinked up at Mr Riddle through his lashes. Tom would always redden when Harry looked at him like that, would always turn away in a hurry and then look at him from the corner of his eye like Harry wouldn't see, wouldn't notice. Mr Riddle wasn't _quite_ so transparent—perhaps age had something to do with that, but even he couldn't really hide the way his eyes trailed down to his lips, the way his fingers tightened on the table as if he was trying to hold himself back.

He cleared his throat, the sat up straighter so he was looking down at Harry somewhat imperiously. "You were quite mouthy just then," he said. He sounded stern, but there was a curl to his brow that belied his amusement.

Harry shrugged carelessly. "I wouldn't want to give people the wrong idea," he replied simply. Mr Riddle's lips quirked up for just a second, so fast Harry almost thought he'd imagined it.

"I don't usually let such behaviour stand," he said, a little more firmly. When he leaned back into his chair and relaxed his muscles, he exuded such dominance, such _poise_ , that Harry immediately _wanted_ to drop to his knees, to give in. He swallowed hard.

"Oh?" he murmured. Then, feeling a little braver, he put his hands on the seat by his hips, pushing his shoulders up and back so his chest stuck out. Mr Riddle's eyes went straight to where his nipples would be, had he been wearing a thinner shirt or, perhaps, nothing at all. Harry had to suppress the urge to grinned, instead schooling his face into an expression of faux naiveté.

The man's eyes flicked back up to his eyes, then slowly back down to his mouth, his collarbones where they peeked through his open shirt-collar. He licked his lips, slowly, and reminded Harry strikingly of a wild predator, a wolf licking its chops. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, like the show he put on was laughably easy to see through.

He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side. "So who's gonna need that tiramisu then," he said, so quiet that he wasn't sure if Mr Riddle would even hear. But the man's grin slowly widened, and as he relaxed back into his chair he reached down between his legs meaningfully.

The sound of the zip was like the crack of lightning, so loud and obvious that Harry couldn't even pretend not to understand. His cheeks bloomed red, and his eyes widened with both embarrassment and incredible lust. His mouth opened, without his consent, and he thought distantly he might even be salivating. Oh, what an effect Mr Riddle had on him, if just the idea of his cock had Harry so hungry.

"On your knees then, sweetheart," Mr Riddle ordered. His voice was firm, unyielding enough that even the thought of protest never crossed Harry's mind. The man was a near stranger to him—they'd never spent more than an hour in just each other's company until this evening, and yet Harry couldn't help the way his mouth watered. He shouldn't want to get on his knees and suck an older man's cock— _shouldn't_ —but he couldn't help it.

He slid under the table.

Mr Riddle's legs were spread wide, his shoes shiny and his trousers perfectly pressed. His fly was undone, and his hand was moving leisurely along his rigid, flushed cock. His fingers were long enough that they wrapped all the way around its girth, but Harry knew his hands were significantly smaller. They wouldn't be able to curl all the way around its shape, and the thought made fire spread across his shoulders.

As he watched, Mr Riddle's thumb rubbed over the head of his cock lazily, like the man was in no hurry. Harry scooted forward, and suddenly felt the urge to open another button on his shirt to cool down. He felt almost as if his flush had painted his face permanently red.

His fingers fumbled, taking much too long to pop a button from its place. He was near enough now that he'd just have to stick his tongue out to be licking at Mr Riddle's cock. He didn't—instead let cool air rush down onto his chest, and pushed his hand into Mr Riddle's pants to pull out his balls.

They were large and heavy in his hand, and his mouth went straight to the warm skin, at first mouthing gently and then vaguely biting, pulling, licking. His nose was full with Mr Riddle's scent, a musky heaviness that made him want more of Mr Riddle in his mouth.

Above him, he heard Mr Riddle laugh—perhaps at his eagerness, but he felt a little adrift. He could scarcely remember where he was—the tiled floor under his knees nothing but a distant ache, one foot devoid of its shoe while the other bent under leather to stabilise him.

Warm fingers threaded themselves into his hair, and then Mr Riddle was guiding him, so gently Harry could almost pretend that _he_ was in control. The barest pressure on the back of his skull made Harry move up, made him lick at the skin just under the head like he'd been taught what to do.

Mr Riddle's thighs clenched in either side of his ears and his fingers flexed, pushing against the base of Harry's scalp, and the knowledge that he was doing _well_ almost made him feel like he'd come where he kneeled, untouched.

He moved his tongue around, pressing firmly, and when Mr Riddle lost his patience growled demandingly, he finally wrapped his lips around the cock and _sucked_.

The reaction was immediate. Mr Riddle almost pulled him off, then seemed to want to shove him down instead. His pointy, fancy shoe pressed against Harry's right calf, almost as if egging him on, and Mr Riddle's other hand pressed into the material of his perfectly pressed slacks. Harry wondered if anyone would notice the creases when, later, they would have to walk out before countless stares.

He took more of Mr Riddle into his mouth. His mouth felt so wet, _soaked_ , and it eased the way. His lips moved down and his tongue pressed hungrily against the underside of Mr Riddle's cock, and then the man seemed to have had enough.

"I think," he groaned, "that you've forgotten what this was about." His voice was huskier, deeper than before. Harry imagine him with his eyes fluttering, his lips bitten red from trying to keep his voice down, and felt like he might grin but for the cock in his mouth.

Mr Riddle's thighs tensed and firmed under his touch, pushing wider, and then his hand was pulling him down firmly. He pushed his cock so deep into Harry that it hit the back of his throat, and then deeper, without regard for Harry.

He struggled to breathe, his hands scrabbling at the smooth black of Mr Riddle's trousers for some kind of purchase. He could feel his throat convulsing desperately around the thickness, could feel himself feeling fainter and weaker.

And then Mr Riddle pulled him off again, up by the grasp in his hair. He gasped, his mouth wet and wide and aching, like it'd never feel the same again. Mr Riddle looked down at him, immensely smug, his eyes glinting oddly brightly in the orange lighting.

"This is about showing you your place, darling," he said, his palm moving soothingly across his cheek and jaw. "And where is your place?"

He paused, and Harry felt like he was waiting for something. After a second, he said, "on my knees?" His voice was so hoarse it sounded like he'd been sobbing, but Mr Riddle seemed pleased by it, by _him_.

"Only before me," he added gently. Then, after a pause and a leer, "for now, at least."

Harry felt himself warming again, his heartbeat racing under the skin of his chest. Mr Riddle was saying something—implying something, like he had all night or even since they'd met. Harry felt like he ought to grasp it, like he _knew_ but wouldn't admit it to himself. He looked at Mr Riddle, who looked at him like he was a particularly pleasing pet, like he had _plans_ for Harry, and a part of him wanted to ask Mr Riddle to explain himself.

Instead, he opened his mouth in offer, and Mr Riddle lead his cock to Harry's lips once more.

He let Mr Riddle push in again, let him control the pace and the depth. The man thrust shallowly at first, barely getting his cockhead past Harry's lips before pulling back out. He did this a few times, keeping up until finally Harry opened his mouth wider and tried to push forward. When that didn't work he whined, looked up at Mr Riddle and fluttered his eyelashes just _so_.

To his delight, Mr Riddle's skin went a little pinker as he stared down at Harry. He dared to smile up at the man, let his tongue slip between his lips to lick slowly, _salaciously_ at the swollen red of his mouth. Mr Riddle's eyes widened, the pupils huge enough to drown out the colour of his irises, and before Harry knew it his face was getting shoved back down.

Mr Riddle pushed all the way in one go, let him choke until his bruised throat settled. He held Harry in place until he stopped struggling, and then let his fingers loosen enough to scratch at Harry's scalp.

It felt heavenly, and for a long, delicious moment Harry felt like he could stay there forever. But then, just like a bucket of cold water, he heard the smart _click_ of high heeled shoes on tiles.

His eyes snapped to the side, and it was with an intense stillness that he watched their waitress approach. Her legs were long and well muscled, covered in black tights, and as Harry watched she came to stand close enough that he could, if he wanted, reach out and grab her ankle. He watched her muscled clench as she set something down on the table—presumably the tiramisu they'd ordered, and then paused awkwardly.

"He's gone to the toilet," Mr Riddle said unnecessarily. Harry rather thought it was testament to how affected he was—usually he'd just stare unnervingly until the person interrupting him went away, or perhaps smile politely and say ' _that will be all_ '. He was rather like his son in that, but all of his cool seemed to have escaped him for the time being.

The waitress coughed, probably nodding. Harry saw her step back, ready to turn and walk away. He watched almost as if dazed, lost in his thoughts and the colours and the heavy feeling in his throat. It was on a whim that he decided, before she could get out of earshot, to _swallow_.

Immediately a groan left Mr Riddle's throat. It was loud enough in their quiet corner that she had surely heard it, and perhaps caught on to what was happening. Of course, she couldn't really do anything about it—Mr Riddle was rich enough to buy the place twice over. She hurried away faster, embarrassed and shaken, and Harry watched her disappear with a sense of glee.

Mr Riddle's hand tightened in his hair punishingly. As soon as the waitress clicked her way out of earshot he thrust up once, then twice, so deep that Harry felt he must be imprinted along his insides. He pushed Harry's nose into the hair at the base of his cock, until the only thing he could think of was Mr Riddle.

He barely had time to gather himself, his throat sore and his eyes watering. Mr Riddle held him still, fucking into him harder and harder until he felt almost dizzy with the speed. He fucked Harry like he was just a convenient hole, and even as he did Harry couldn't help but wonder how he would look at Mr Riddle later, tomorrow, _when Tom was there_.

Oh, how could he possibly tell Tom he'd let his best friend's father fuck his mouth, never mind that it happened in a _restaurant_.

His cock throbbed in his trousers, and Harry didn't want to admit that the idea of Tom _knowing_ , of Tom _seeing_ had him hard enough to burst. He let himself open his fly, took himself in hand and slid his hand down his cock, slowly. It felt unimaginably good, like hadn't touched himself in forever.

He let himself press in all the right places, just as he preferred, and worried that he'd come as Mr Riddle became harsher with him. He'd never felt so much like an object before, like a thing _made_ for Mr Riddle's pleasure, and it made every nerve in his body light up in arousal.

The man became frantic—sloppy, his hips moving unevenly and his breathing coming in shorter, harder gasps. He could feel it coming, feel the wet warmth like it was a memory. He sucked, and with one last push Mr Riddle came down his throat.

He opened his mouth wide, lax, and let the man do as he wished. Mr Riddle pulled his dick out, wet, dragged it against Harry's loose tongue as he did. He let Harry lean forward and kiss the head almost fondly, let him move to mouth at the balls hanging below.

It was clear he felt sensitive—he hissed as Harry licked at his cock, but he leaned back lazily nonetheless and let Harry take his time before pulling himself up.

Harry felt shameless by now. The waitress already knew he'd basically sucked off Mr Riddle under the table—was there really anything more exhibitionist than that?

He slid up Mr Riddle's body slowly, taking the opportunity to grope at his arms and his chest and his legs. They were firm—clearly Mr Riddle was a man that believed in fitness. The thought of those strong legs between his own, or perhaps those arms holding him up against a wall whilst Mr Riddle had his way with him _in other ways_ made Harry blush oddly. He wasn't quite sure if it was just arousal that made him want to press closer, or a different sort of admiration.

Nevertheless, feeling rather daring he let his legs fall on either side of Mr Riddle's hips and pressed his chest close, until their mouths were barely inches apart. They stared at each other for what seemed like a small eternity, and then Mr Riddle smiled.

"Well," he said. "I suppose you've earned this after all." And, reaching behind Harry, he took a spoonful of dessert to press to Harry's lips.

He let Mr Riddle feed him without protest. The tiramisu was soft, cold, the cream sweet and the coffee bitter. It was strong enough to sweep the taste of cum from his mouth, from his tongue, but it was more the way Mr Riddle's eyes went warm that captured Harry's attention.

Even though he'd just let Me Riddle fuck his mouth, it was now that he felt unbearably naked. His cock still stood straight out of his trousers, but all Harry could think about was how incredibly _intimate_ this felt.

Mr Riddle pressed another spoonful to his mouth. Harry let himself taste it, swallow it, and then leant forward to press his lips against Mr Riddle's.

They were surprisingly soft—or perhaps not really, except that Mr Riddle had always seemed a hard man. A firm sort, the kind to be harsh and critical. He'd seemed to Harry somewhat like stone—stone he'd learned to find brief and exciting cracks in, perhaps, but stone nonetheless. To find a part of him to be so soft, so sweet, was shockingly endearing to Harry.

He wrapped his arms around Mr Riddle, deepening the kiss between them. The man hummed delightedly as he licked into Harry's mouth—he supposed that Mr Riddle must like coffee. It was nice, he thought. It had been so long since he'd kissed another person like this.

He almost didn't mind having to finish himself off. His hand moved back down to his cock—he was so close after well, only a stroke or two would to it, but Mr Riddle's grip was sudden and tight around his wrist.

He pulled back to look at Harry and, without breaking eye contact, raised his hand to call the waitress to their table.

Harry's eyes widened when he realised what was happening. The lady would see him like this, legs spread akimbo, a show missing and his cock hard and red and out in the open. She'd _see_. He'd been wrong to think that her merely _knowing_ was the worst that could happen—he knew that now, understood with a sharp clarity that cut lines into his lust.

He wondered at how she might react. Surely it was one thing to guess through context, and another altogether to _see_ , with one's own eyes. And yet he didn't mind—her face became suddenly sharper in his mind, her kind eyes and painted lips more important. And even as he watched her walk over, as he watched her stumble at their position, he found his opinion slowly changing.

He _wanted_ her to see.

Mr Riddle turned him so that Harry's side was pressed up against his chest, pressing his grinning mouth into Harry's hair. His cock faced the woman, as she neared, but she seemed determined not to look at it or, in fact, at either of them.

"What can I do for you, sirs?" she asked. Her voice trembled viciously. Mr Riddle put his chin on top of Harry's head and smiled genially.

"We have a little problem, you see," he said, sounding almost as if he was at a business meeting and not in a restaurant with a somewhat naked boy in his lap. "I was hoping you could help me."

She swallows hard, her cheeks going so dark that he wondered how the capillaries there hadn't burst yet. "Sir?" she squeaked out.

Mr Riddle nodded as if it was all very serious, very normal. "Look at this sweet boy," he said, his gaze flickering towards Harry, and she hesitantly did as asked. He wondered what he looked like to her. He wondered if he looked about as debauched as he felt.

"Don't you think he deserves a gift?" Mr Riddle continued. "A kindness? Mercy, even." He moved his hand down to Harry's cock and turned his index finger about the tip, making Harry arch his back desperately.

She watched almost helplessly, but when Mr Riddle's gaze hardened she nodded shakily.

"Yes sir," she whispered.

Hands gripped at Harry's thighs in response, pulling them wide. Mr Riddle nodded with his head, and she moved forward a half-step, as if she'd acted before even realising it. "I'm sure he'd appreciate your assistance," Mr Riddle said. "In fact, I'm sure you'll be compensated _beautifully_ for your help." For effect, he pinched at Harry's arse, and Harry couldn't help the high pitched whine that escaped.

Her lips pursed as if in thought, and once again Harry couldn't help but marvel at the strong red of her lipstick. Finally, as he watched, she nodded and moved forward.

And then looked confused again. Mr Riddle sighed, but it sounded so soft that she smiled almost timidly in response. "Your hand will do, my dear," he said. She nodded again, and wrapped her slim fingers around Harry's cock without preamble.

They were even smaller than Harry's, her fingers long and thin, her fingernails trimmed and clean. She squeezed a little, almost experimentally, until Harry gasped because of the firmness of her grip. Then she smiled up at him and oh, she looked every bit an imp now, every trace of shyness and hesitancy gone.

She held him tight, and wanked him off with quick, efficient strokes.

He gasped, and almost before he could help it he was coming. She moved to the side so that it would pool onto the floor, and then refused to stop even as he finished coming.

His entire body shook, but Mr Riddle didn't even move. He watched lazily, contentedly, until she had watched him gasp out for mercy at least three time, until his eyes felt wet from the incredible force of her hand in his oversensitive cock. She leant back almost as if she'd merely been pouring wine, and took a napkin from the table to wipe her hand on.

Mr Riddle was silent for a moment, waiting until she's finished. Then he pulled Harry's head tightly into the crook of his neck. She waited patiently.

"We'll have the check, I think," he said. She smiled politely.

"Certainly sir," she replied, and turned in her heel to walk away. Her hips swayed with every step, and Harry wondered if it was because she was pleased or if he'd just failed to notice before.

There was a deep sort of exhaustion that had settled into his bones—the sort that didn't necessarily warrant sleep, but made him loose limbed and did away with his inhibitions. Mr Riddle let him kiss at his neck as he pleased, leaning his head back so that Harry could mouth at his Adam's apple at his leisure.

When she came back with the check, Mr Riddle gave her a tip large enough to make her eyes widen and her mouth stretch into a smug grin. He laughed at her pleasure, and then wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders to walk them to the car.

As they drove away, Harry let himself lean against Mr Riddle's shoulder. "We ought to come here again sometime," he said.

Mr Riddle laughed. "Oh, we will."


	12. The Pleasures of Company

**The Pleasures of Company**

Words: 7,233

Pairing: Tom Riddle Sr/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter, Evan Rosier/Harry Potter, Rodolphus Lestrange/Harry Potter, Rabastan Lestrange/Harry Potter, Barty Crouch Jr/Harry Potter

Beta: ChukarPatridge

Warnings: public sex, multiple partners, dubiously consensual somnophilia

* * *

Harry smoothed down the frilly, layered skirt of his costume nervously, fidgeting with the apron at his waist continuously. Despite being alone, he couldn't find a comfortable position to stand—he felt self-conscious in his clothing, and understandably so. The dress he wore was black and soft, and short enough that his thighs were bare despite the long, black stockings that wrapped around his legs. His shoulders were bare too, the neckline of his dress made wide enough that it slipped off the shoulders. His entire front felt unbearably naked. He'd never worn something that left his neck and collarbone so thoroughly revealed.

He wasn't sure if he liked it yet.

He stood outside the parlour, and while he waited he couldn't help but shake his hips a little, just to explore the feeling of soft cotton and a breeze where there usually wasn't one. The hem of his skirt brushed the skin of his thighs with every step, too soft to really tickle but tangible enough that it made Harry shiver. He almost enjoyed it like this, by himself, exploring the utterly novel feeling of his legs being encased in soft material, of feeling _sexy_. There was power in the way he walked, his heels somehow giving him a feeling of influence and sway that felt foreign, and yet welcome.

As he stood in the wide hallway, coming to terms with his own appearance, the doorbell rang.

Immediately his eyes shot to the front door, its dark wood gleaming in the orange light. He felt almost _shy_. But there was also a sense of urgency. He knew both Mr Riddle and Tom would have heard the bell, and they'd be waiting for Harry to lead their guests in promptly. He didn't want to disappoint.

It had taken him a while to get used to walking in heels—though these weren't particicularly high—but by now he felt fairly confident striding his way to the front door. He strode over and pressed his hand to the doorknob where he paused, suddenly unsure. The metal was cool under his fingers, and for a second Harry wondered if it was cold outside or if he himself had grown hot, a mix of anticipation and shyness making him feel warmer by the minute. But he could almost _feel_ Tom and Mr Riddle waiting, so he shook off the uncertainty and opened the door.

There were five men standing on the other side. Harry recognised them all, though some were more familiar than others. As he stepped to the side, the first to walk through was Malfoy, his blond hair loose as it usually was. He looked past Harry like he wasn't even there, instead striding through and shoving his coat in Harry's direction as he did.

Next to walk through were the two Lestrange brothers, Rabastan and Rodolphus. Harry remembered that one of them was married, and for a second he felt mortified—didn't they know what would happen today? He'd been so sure that Mr Riddle had informed his guests beforehand, but now he no longer felt as certain, and it made him feel exposed—especially when Rabastan did not bother hiding the way his eyes ran up and down Harry's body.

He tried to pretend he didn't see it, but felt himself tremble despite the attempt to remain unfazed. His eyes slid to the last two guests, of whom one—Crouch Jr, he thought—sauntered through like he owned the place. The other was someone Harry was more familiar with. He stood there and waited whilst Harry locked the door and put away the coats, and stood all too close when he turned.

"Hullo, pretty," he said, and though he did not touch Harry, his gaze felt like a violation.

"We should get inside," Harry said, and then winced when his voice came out much too timid. Rosier smiled like he'd won something, and beckoned for Harry to lead the way in.

He'd never felt so aware of every part of himself as he walked the few steps down to the parlour. Every step felt like he was removing another layer of clothing, like Rosier was seeing something he hadn't meant to reveal. He wondered how much of his skin could be seen from behind—his shoulders bare, his thighs naked, and could the man see underneath his skirt? Could he see parts of Harry that, until now, only Mr Riddle and Tom had?

And why did the thought of somebody else seeing him like that make him feel so aroused?

They walked through the hallway in silence, Harry's heels click-clacking sharply against the tiled flooring. His hips swayed with every step, and as he entered through the doorway he couldn't help but notice how their eyes went to his skirt, to the teasing sliver of skin that showed between the hem of the dress and the tops of his stockings. It made him redden in embarrassment, and the urge to pull at the hem became almost overwhelming. He resisted. In his awkwardness, he turned to the coffee table, but then one of the Lestranges whistled—loud and shameless—and Harry almost tripped over in surprise. And here he thought he'd become proficient at walking in heels.

And yet, in sharp contrast to his shame was a sense of glee, pride at the effect he had on these people. He felt almost like a talented seductress, making lovesick fools of powerful men with just a turn of her neck, and he had to admit the feeling was intoxicating.

And then there was Tom, already engaging with his guests like it was as natural as breathing, and across him Mr Riddle—uncaring and aloof. He sat with his shoulders back, his left arm draped over the back of the sofa he sat on. His legs were spread, his feet planted firmly on the tiled floor, and in his right hand he held his phone, in which he seemed absolutely absorbed. Harry found himself watching his every slow blink, the way his lashes seemed much longer against his skin, the tiny twitch of his lips that told Harry he wasn't as uninterested as he seemed. His head was slightly tilted, and as Harry watched he reached to brush a strand of hair back from his face.

He was so incredibly handsome that it took Harry's breath away.

They both looked up after a while, like they'd just noticed him standing there, and Mr Riddle had such a pleased look on his face that Harry automatically felt himself straightening up under his attention like a sunflower under the sun.

It certainly distracted him, because when he came back to himself he realised that Tom had greeted all of his guests and was waiting for Harry to pay attention again. He gasped a little, glancing sheepishly at Tom who seemed a little sour at where his focus had been, and walked swiftly over to the coffee table in the middle of the room. Upon it lay a full tea set and some scones, ready to be served.

Though he felt incredibly conscious of the guests sitting right behind him, he kept his eyes and attention on his fingers, willing his fingers to be steady. It wouldn't do to spill or trip, after all. Despite the intent of today's meeting, these were people with whom Mr Riddle and Tom often did business with. He couldn't let himself mess up.

As he filled the fancy little cups, he felt a firm, large hand smack his backside. He jumped, almost spilling the tea, but he managed just barely to right the pot in time. "He's got such a round arse, Thomas," the man behind him said shamelessly. Harry thought it might be Rosier, but he was too flustered to check. Harry stared at Mr Riddle, then at Tom, waiting for them to do or say _anything_ —they didn't. It made him heat with a sort of humiliation that was hard to bear, a feeling that made him want to hide, but he controlled himself and took a slow, deep breath in.

Pretending as if nothing had happened, he moved on to the next cup.

"Indeed, you do know how to pick the best ones," Crouch Jr commented. There was a pause as Harry passed Malfoy his cup, both men waiting for a response, but Mr Riddle just hummed noncommittally.

"Of course we do," Tom replied instead. His fingers tapped at the arm of his chair, and he smiled when he saw Harry looking. "But Harry can do a lot more than just pour tea, can't you dear."

It wasn't a question. Harry straightened, and when Tom beckoned he walked over without a word.

When he stood before Tom, the man leaned back, his gaze taking full advantage of the view. He spent a few long, highly-charged moments watching the way Harry's legs trembled just the slightest, the stockings outlining their shape in a way that should have been illegal. He watched the rise and fall of Harry's chest, the contrast between his bare shoulders and the black frills that framed them, the red of his cheeks and and green of his eyes. He stepped into his chair, his back straight but relaxed, and tapped his own shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "Bend over, sweetheart," he ordered. Harry pursed his lips nervously but, balancing carefully on his heels, bent at the waist to rest his chin on Tom's shoulder.

It was difficult, balancing like that. Harry tried, for a second, and then tried to hold on to Tom's biceps to steady himself. Tom tutted, tapping a finger on his right hand.

"Hands behind your back," he told him, his voice low and heavy this close to his ear. Trembling a little, Harry grasped his own wrist at the small of his back, and then almost jumped out of his skin when Tom's hands landed firmly on his upper thighs.

Just under the hem of his skirt.

He felt oddly sensitive there—the skin cold from exposure to air, but more than that it was like the constant brushing of silk against his skin making him feel everything that much more keenly. Tom bit playfully at his naked shoulder, clearly amused by his reactions, and slid his hand up higher.

It was warm against Harry's skin, and the slow slide of his palms to somewhere nobody could see made something nearly _painful_ ache in his groin.

Tom traced the edges of Harry's underwear, his nails scratching lightly at the skin just under the elastic, and could anyone else guess what he was wearing? Nobody would be able to see because of the way Tom touched him, but they could certainly make a good guess.

And then Tom snapped the elastic against his skin, and they didn't have to. He jumped again, pressing his fingers more tightly into his own wrist and biting at Tom's shirt collar to keep himself quiet. "Good boy," Tom murmured, and then pulled the flimsy material aside to nudge at his hole.

It was already slick and open, and Tom's curious finger slid in almost too easily. "You're hungry for it, aren't you," Tom laughed loudly, not bothering to keep it quiet. Harry didn't know why _that_ made him feel the burn of shame when being spread open in front of near strangers wasn't.

It was like Tom knew _exactly_ what he was thinking. "Should I tell you how they're looking at you right now?" he asked.

He pushed his finger in deeper, pushing against Harry's insides before moving back again. Harry whined quietly against Tom's throat, his legs widening despite himself. The fingers of Tom's other hand flexed in the meat of his upper thigh, at the place where it met his arse, and his finger slid in again. "Do you want to know how carefully they're watching the things I do to you?"

And oh, he wished he could see them himself—their eyes rapt on the hem of his skirt, waiting for just the tiniest hint of what Tom was doing to him. He wished he could see the way their eyes darkened, the flush that heated their skin, the arousal that tented their trousers. He wanted to see what kind of effect _he_ was having, wanted to know exactly how attractive he looked by the measure of their interest.

But he couldn't say any of that. Instead, he moaned into Tom's skin, and as his lover fingered him open he mouthed wet, biting kisses against Tom's neck. He smelled most strongly of his cologne here, Harry thought distantly, but found he could mostly only focus on how well Tom stretched him.

And then, almost as if by accident, his eyes slid over to the side, landing just barely on Mr Riddle sitting and watching him. He was just as relaxed as he had been before, unbothered by the show his son put on for him. His shoulders were back against the sofa, and his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the rim of his glass. He looked, for all the world, to be watching nothing more interesting than the news.

But then Harry's eyes slid down, down to the shape between Mr Riddle's legs. He noticed the tightness in Mr Riddle's calves, the clenching of his hand, and then back to the unashamed arousal he showed off, and he couldn't help the way his mouth watered at the sight.

It was almost like Tom sensed his distraction. Harry gasped when he pushed in deeper, dragging his attention back with a snap, and almost against his will his stance widened some more. Tom laughed again, and Harry wanted to cry at the dark promise in his tone. Tom's finger moved into him, then another, and all Harry could think about was that the skirt barely hid anything from the watching audience. Could they see the skin where his thighs ended? Could they tell what he was wearing, the colour of his underwear, the material it was made from? Could they, with the occasional enthusiastic thrust, see the way his hole stretched around Tom's fingers, the slickness seeping from his arse? He wanted to believe they couldn't, but as Tom's fingers moved into him faster and harder he couldn't help but shift his hips upwards, and knew that his skirt was probably too short to do more than cover the back of Tom's moving hand.

Tom's fingers pushed up into him hard, and Harry gasped loudly. "That's enough," Mr Riddle said, almost as if he didn't want to have to say it. Like he'd expected Tom to know without him saying.

Everything went silent. Tom went still inside him, and Harry felt the barely restrained flex of Tom's fingers, like Tom was still deciding whether or not to obey. He nosed at Harry's neck and bit down there, and then twisted his fingers until Harry thought he'd collapse. He moaned, watching as Mr Riddle's slight frown deepened, and Harry knew Tom was looking at Mr Riddle as he made Harry gasp. He imagined the defiance in his gaze, the way their eyes locked in a battle of wills, but Mr Riddle didn't say another word. Tom's fingers widened inside him, as if reluctant to leave the tightness of his body, but with an annoyed sigh he slid them from Harry's hole and put his hands back on Harry's thighs.

Harry didn't move from his position, and felt Tom press a kiss into his hair for it. He readjusted Harry's panties, sliding them back over his hole like a passing attempt at modesty—futile, for all it managed to cover. He tried to regain his composure, still bent over with his face pressed into Tom's shoulder, but Mr Riddle's expectant gaze on his arse felt almost like a physical weight, and it made him shiver with anticipation.

Tom's fingers pressed into Harry's thighs, and Harry straightened up like it was a signal. Mr Riddle patted his lap teasingly, his lips twitching in the barest hint of a smirk. "Come here, darling," he called. "My cock needs some warming up."

Tom kept him where he was for a long moment, as if trying to make himself let go. He kissed Harry again and smoothed out his skirt before giving his butt a swat. "Go on then," he said. Harry kissed Tom's cheek and straightened, turning and walking towards Mr Riddle and trying desperately to keep his balance in heels.

It was awkward walking over with his arse so wet, so stretched, but Harry tried to ignore how empty he felt. When at last he stood in front of Mr Riddle, the man grabbed him by his hips and spun him around so that he was looking out at the rest of the room.

The presence of near-strangers was almost a shock to Harry—he had almost forgotten that there was anyone there apart from his two lovers. Instead, he found various men—men from wealthy families, both Tom's friends and Mr Riddle's—watching him as Mr Riddle guided him down into his lap. How strange, that although he'd known they were there the whole time, it was only now that he felt the full weight of their gazes.

He'd moaned like a whore for them just now.

It was somehow more embarrassing to stand and stare at them, and see them staring back as Mr Riddle ran his hands up his legs and down again between them. He tried to keep his gaze straight and unwavering, but when confronted with Malfoy licking his lips and Rosier palming himself shamelessly, he found he couldn't help but look away.

The sound of the zipper being pulled down was like a shot in the silence, and the knowledge that Mr Riddle was just now probably taking out his own cock made Harry feel almost light-headed. He wanted so badly to look back, and without consciously deciding to he imagined the sight behind him. He knew what his cock looked like so very intimately by now, had seen the way Mr Riddle handled himself enough to imagine, incredibly vividly, the way his fingers wrapped around his girth.

He heard a soft grunt, and knew Mr Riddle was stroking himself. His arousal must have been obvious on his face, because Tom laughed.

"Go on then," he said. "We all know you're hungry for it." Harry couldn't even pretend to not understand—he was too obvious, too hungry, too clearly needy for Mr Riddle.

So he didn't even bother trying. A firm hand came to rest on his waist, and he felt almost hyper-aware of Rosier and the Lestranges, of Malfoy and Crouch watching him, their eyes roaming his bitten-red lips, his bare shoulders and heaving chest, his bare thighs and splayed legs as Mr Riddle guided Harry down to sit on his dick. He slid down slowly despite his eagerness—Tom's fingers were nothing compared to this, and though Harry had taken Mr Riddle multiple times before, the stretch still took his breath out of him.

He felt almost faint with the intensity, but when he tried to pause Mr Riddle's hand on his waist pushed him down further, until Harry burned with the stretch and the weight and the ache inside him. He shimmied a little, moving side to side on Mr Riddle's cock to find a comfortable position but the cock inside him felt overwhelmingly _present_ no matter how he sat.

He tried to rise again, but Mr Riddle hissed in pleasure and, without warning, grabbed him by the hips and shoved him back down.

Harry cried out, and one of the men—Crouch?—laughed quietly. He wanted to be embarrassed, but all he could think of was how large Mr Riddle seemed inside him like this. "Down boy," someone joked, but Mr Riddle was pushing his legs wide so they rested on the arms of his chair, so Harry couldn't find it in himself to look up.

"Stay there," Mr Riddle murmured into his ear. "You'll be good for me, won't you?" It wasn't really a question—Harry would never want to disappoint Mr Riddle, and both of them knew that.

He leaned back, easing into the body behind him until his back was touching Mr Riddle's chest. The man lead Harry's hands to his own thighs and left them there, and when Harry didn't move them he shifted under him just _so_ , his cock pushing against his insides.

"Good boy," Mr Riddle said then, and the compliment made something in Harry light up brightly. He felt pleased, but more than that he felt _satisfied_. He'd done _well_. Mr Riddle's hands roamed his chest and waist and thighs like he didn't even realise he was doing it, and as the conversation started back up he reached up to pinch at Harry's nipples until he was gasping.

He pushed out for more, turned his head to mouth at Mr Riddle's jaw, but the man didn't even seem to notice—and neither did anyone else. He looked at Tom, and then—despite himself, at Rosier too, but no. It was like he wasn't even there.

Like he was just an ornament.

And he'd never felt more like one, his only use as a cockwarmer even in a crowded room like this. It didn't matter how much he moaned or gasped or kissed pleadingly at the corner of Mr Riddle's mouth, didn't matter if he clenched around his cock or shifted to get more comfortable—nobody reacted to his presence.

Harry had never felt more insignificant, and yet it wasn't unpleasant. It was like his only job here _was_ to sit on Mr Riddle's cock, to keep it warm, so much so that nobody felt the need to bat an eye. And Mr Riddle was so _deep_ inside him, so wide, that Harry couldn't forget about it no matter how his mind drifted.

He felt almost dazed, his mind stuck on the feel of the fabric against his sore nipples and his cock, tightly restrained in soft cotton. It was like he could feel every fibre, every thread against his thighs, the stark difference in temperature between his chest and shoulders, the slight ache in the sole of his foot that came from being unused to heels. He felt almost too sensitive, and yet he didn't feel urgent or particularly desperate—he could stay like this forever, and be content.

He wasn't sure how long he remained like that, lost in the way Mr Riddle's hands stroked along the soft skin of his inner thighs, the way they spread his legs open wider and slid under his skirt to touch the place where they were joined like the rest of him was a secret. He lost himself in the soft rumble of Mr Riddle's chest as he spoke, in Tom's voice from somewhere to his left, in the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun through the large windows along the West side of the room.

Coming back to the present felt a little like waking from a dream—a slow rise back to reality, which started with the gentle way Mr Riddle was thrusting into him. It wasn't even thrusting, really—more of a slow grind, but Harry felt it's presence keenly enough that he moaned low and soft.

"That's right," Mr Riddle said into his hair. "You're such a good boy, aren't you. So obedient, my pretty." And then he pushed in harder, and Harry's eyes flew open like he'd been slapped.

"You do have wonderful taste, Thomas," the blond man commented—Malfoy, Harry recalled. He had long hair pushed back behind his ears, and sat back with his shoulders high. For a minute, Harry wondered what Mr Riddle would look like with long hair, and felt his cock twitch in spite of himself.

"Indeed," Rodolphus added. "He certainly looks a sight."

It was like Tom had been waiting for exactly that moment. He shifted his legs so one was crossed over the other. "Like him, do you?" he said airily, like they were talking about the colour of the walls and not someone being fucked in the middle of the room. He turned to Harry. "Show our guests what you have to offer, sweetheart.

"Show our guests how well you take cock."

He said it so casually Harry almost didn't register what he meant. He stared at Tom in disbelief, but Tom didn't seem to be joking.

Mr Riddle laughed, and then thrust into him again. "Go on sweetheart," he said. "Lift up your skirt for the nice men."

His fingers pressed harder into Harry's skin, and Harry—taking it as the order it was, did as told and pulled up the hem of his skirt just a little. He didn't look at Malfoy or Rodolphus as he did, but kept his eyes on Tom, watching as his eyes slid from Harry's face to the space between his thighs, and Harry understood that _just a little_ had been enough.

Crouch Jr whistled, and Harry felt himself immediately flushing hot at the thought of what Tom, of what they could _all_ , see—his panties pulled to the side, arse stretched around Mr Riddle's cock, wet and pink and oh, what they must think of him! But where there was a sliver of mortification at being so immodest, at being so _vulgar_ , there was also an odd feeling of fulfilment at being something worth showing off. And when Mr Riddle pulled his legs further apart, and murmured _good boy_ in his ear like that, Harry couldn't deny that he felt like he could burst from delight.

He wanted to hide his face, but a distant part of him told him it didn't even matter—none of them were looking at his face anyway.

He arched his back a little and Tom laughed, putting down the teacup he'd just picked up with a sharp _clink_. "If you're so desperate for dick, darling, I'm sure our guests will be willing to accommodate." In response to his comment, Rosier perked up and grinned at Harry, and when he saw Harry watching leaned back and spread his legs suggestively.

"A little more," Tom urged, and then groaned heavily when Harry pulled the skirt up higher. "That's right," he said. "You're all wrapped up and pretty for us, aren't you."

Tom's eyes did not move from the sight of Harry's cock, heavy and damp with arousal, waiting for him to play with. He flushed at Tom's intense attention, and it made his lover grin. "You like that?" he asked. "Being called pretty? You got upset when Barty here called your arse a good round thing but how could I tell him off for speaking the truth, darling?"

Harry couldn't answer, his breaths stuttering in his chest.

He looked back at Rosier despite himself, remembering all the comments the man had made before at parties and dinners, the way he'd promised Harry unforgettable nights, "or I could just fuck you over the table, if you'd prefer." He was silent now, his hand moving slowly over his crotch, and for a minute Harry felt incredibly influential.

Then Mr Riddle was grabbing his legs and pulling them up against his chest, fucking him so much deeper that he couldn't help but cry out, and Harry forgot all about Evan Rosier.

Mr Riddle started fucking him in earnest, so much so that Harry could only focus on the slick slide of his cock and the delicious stretch of his arse. It was a difficult position, but the way Mr Riddle inadvertently showed off his strength made Harry that much more aroused.

The sound of a loud groan made Harry look over at Tom, only to find he'd pulled his own cock out of his trousers and was now stroking himself roughly, his eyes half-lidded and focused on Harry's open, wet mouth. As Harry watched, his eyes flicked down to his arse and then back up, like he couldn't decide which he preferred. It made something soft bloom in Harry's chest. It made him want to kiss Tom silly.

The loud sound of their fucking rang throughout the room. Mr Riddle felt so good inside him, and Harry felt so close to coming that his hands reached almost mindlessly for his own cock. Mr Riddle didn't seem to agree—he stopped immediately, grabbing at Harry's hair and pulling his head back sharply.

In the sudden silence, Harry's own breathing seemed impossibly loud, his heart a drum in his chest. It was like he hadn't realised quite how excited he'd gotten, and was only now realising as he panted desperately. He whined, and a part of him felt like it should be ashamed of sounding so incredibly _horny_ , but he couldn't care less.

When Mr Riddle still didn't move he tried to pull himself off his cock, grabbing at Mr Riddle's arm, but it was an impossible task. There was no way to move himself when positioned like this, his arse displayed for all to see.

"Did I say you could?" Mr Riddle asked. He was out of breath too, but still seemed less affected than Harry despite having put in more effort.

Harry whined again, but Mr Riddle remained uncaring. Instead, he moved so suddenly that Harry barely had time to blink before he was on his hands and knees on the coffee table, Mr Riddle still deep in his arse. He angled his hips for more, but still Mr Riddle did not fuck him. Instead, he seemed to be considering something.

Then he grabbed Harry's hair again to pull his head back so his back arched, and kept him there. "It looks like one isn't enough for him," he commented, so offhandedly it took a minute for Harry to understand what he was implying.

Immediately he tried to look back at Mr Riddle, and when that didn't work over at Tom, but neither of them were paying attention to him.

"I'm rather fond of his arse myself," Mr Riddle continued, now looking at Malfoy like he was having a perfectly reasonable discussion. "And, if I'm honest, perhaps a little too possessive. But," and he thrust his hips like he was testing something, "I think his mouth could use a little preoccupation.

"He _is_ so terribly hungry, after all."

As Harry watched, Malfoy's mouth curved up into a vicious smirk. He stood without further prompting and undid his fly, taking out his already hard cock. It was long and pale, just like the rest of him, and seemed to flush pinker with every second that passed. Harry found his mouth watering despite himself, and Tom noticed.

"Hurry up then," he said loudly. "He's got others to suck on after this, you know." Harry tried again to look at Tom but Malfoy didn't waste another second—he grabbed Harry's hair just as Mr Riddle let go and, without consideration, pushed his cock into Harry's mouth.

It was unlike anything Harry had experienced before, not because he'd never sucked a cock—he had, plenty too—but because despite all the voyeurism and public fucking, he'd never really been fucked by anyone besides the Riddles. And yet here he was, his mouth shared about like a common whore's. Like he was public property.

The idea shouldn't make him so aroused, he thought.

He tried his best to take all of Malfoy's cock, tried to suck at it and lick like he knew he was capable of doing, but Mr Riddle was fucking him so _good_ it took all of Harry's energy to even remain upright. After a while he just gave up and went limp, letting both if them do as they pleased. Mr Malfoy took full advantage of his lack of resistance to fuck his mouth like it was his arse.

He pushed in and then held himself there, Mr Riddle's thrusting pushing Harry's nose against the base of Malfoy's cock. His mouth felt impossibly full and his jaw ached, but Harry could only do his best to relax his mouth and his throat, and let Malfoy have his way.

It didn't take much longer. Malfoy came thrusting into his mouth, no regard for Harry, and left his cock inside Harry's mouth for a long minute after he was done. Harry almost felt like he'd die from the lack of oxygen, his head so dazed it was a wonder he hadn't passed out yet, but just when he felt himself reach his limit Malfoy pulled out and dropped his head down onto the table like it was a soiled napkin.

With his cheek to the wood, Harry watched as Malfoy put himself away and moved back to his seat. Rosier didn't even need to be invited—he was there before anyone had said anything, and he too followed Malfoy's example in grabbing Harry's hair and thrusting in like his mouth was a fleshlight instead.

He fucked into Harry's mouth once, twice, then pulled out to press his cock to Harry's cheek. "Look up, pretty boy," he said. When Harry didn't immediately react he slapped him with his cock, the sound wet and loud. "Come on, look at me while I fuck you."

Harry looked up. Rosier was unbearably smug, this time pushing in much more slowly so as to savour it, and when his cock finally came to rest on Harry's tongue, he wasted no time in swallowing him down. He let the man use him, watching him all the while, and only let his gaze drop when his eyes strained from the effort.

Almost as if to drag his attention back, Mr Riddle reached around to his chest and twisted his nipples hard through the silk of his dress.

Harry gasped around Rosier's cock, his eyes watering at the pain. Mr Riddle fucked him harder, slower, grabbing his hips and shoving himself in deep. It almost _hurt_ , how deep he was fucking Harry, and it made tears form in his eyes no matter how fast he tried to blink them away.

Rosier pulled out of his mouth at the sight, a strange gleam entering his eyes. He pulled out and started stroking himself, forcing Harry to keep his head up.

"Open your mouth, sweetheart," he groaned, wanking himself furiously. Harry opened his mouth wide, his tongue sticking out just a little bit, and Rosier came all over it.

And then Mr Riddle was shoving his head down and his arse up, and fucking him so hard he feared the table might break. It felt like every part of Harry was burning with both exhaustion and overstimulation. His eyes leaked tears almost like something inside him had suddenly come loose, but for the life of him Harry could not tell what it was. All he knew was that the sight of his tears made Tom get up and cross the room to crouch before him, made him kiss Harry's nose and lips and lick his tears away like they were dessert.

Harry tried to wipe his own face clean, but the tears just kept coming, and his breath now came in great, heaving gasps. Mr Riddle shifted him over to his side, pulling one leg up and over his shoulder, and then became frustrated enough to reach down and _rip_ his fragile, soaked panties off him.

And still he couldn't stop crying. Tom leaned close and groaned at the sight of him, his hand on his cock, and leaned down further to pull Harry into a filthy, wet kiss.

And then Mr Riddle was coming inside him, and Tom was kissing him harder and deeper, and Harry's consciousness faded into nothing.

* * *

Mr Riddle pulled out of Harry's limp, pliant body slowly, watching the come leak out of his hole. For a few long, lasting seconds he kept his eyes fixed on the sight, noting how loose and stretched Harry's arse was, before finally looking at where Tom thumbed at Harry's bottom lip.

"Not his arse," he said, tucking himself back in and zipping up his trousers, "but if you're creative, I'm sure he can take two."

Rabastan, the younger of the Lestrange brothers, stood up. He waited patiently as Tom moved Harry's face this way and that, his hands trailing down to Harry's chest and tweaking his nipples hard, as if to check if Harry was indeed unconscious.

No reaction.

He stood, turned, and walked back to his seat.

Rabastan took the invitation, and without further encouragement pushed his cock between Harry's lax lips. So focused was he on the sight of Harry's mouth that he didn't notice Barty get up and near him, his eyes intent on the sight of Harry's legs and stomach and chest.

"Two at a time, huh," he muttered as if to himself. It was bold of him to do what he was intending to without asking for explicit permission, and Barty could not ignore the sharp look Tom sent his way. But he didn't let it bother him—confident enough in their relationship that he knew he wouldn't be denied this.

He was surprisingly gentle with Harry as he handled his legs, pushing him onto his back and pressing his cock between Harry's warm, firm thighs. Whereas Rabastan seemed happy to take advantage of Harry's lack of consciousness to be rough with him, Barty couldn't help but regard him as even more fragile like this. The younger man seemed almost breakable—his skin paler, his features more delicate, his legs charming and coltish, wrapped in sheer material as they were. A part of him wanted to tie the boy up, soak every part of him until his clothes were unusable, but he knew his limits.

Instead, he satisfied himself with this—pushing Harry's thighs tightly together and fucking them slow, wondering what his arse might feel like instead. He watched with rapt attention as the tip of his cock pushed out from between Harry's soft skin with every thrust, how it disappeared every time his hips withdrew. Harry's skirt was flipped up, his pretty cock limp and pink and wet with his own come, and for a minute Barty let himself imagine coming over his thighs and cock, wondered what it would be like to fuck the boy completely naked, his nipples swollen and sore and Barty's bite marks all over his skin.

Somewhere before him, he heard the grunting of Rabastan finishing over Harry's mouth and moving back, spent. He was replaced soon enough by his brother, who also wasted no time in taking his dick out. Rodolphus pulled Harry's head back until it hung over the edge of the table, his head tipped back and his throat open for Rodolphus' cock. Barty saw this, watched the man shove himself deep without a second thought, and without warning felt himself coming.

His orgasm felt like it went on forever, and almost distantly he watched himself come all over Harry's bare thighs and cock, watched himself come over the black skirt and white apron, until he felt loose and warm all over.

And still he stayed where he was. Rodolphus came quicker than his brother, thrusting loosely into Harry's mouth and throwing his head back with a loud groan.

Barty watched as he pulled out, and only followed when he noticed Tom approaching from the corner of his eye.

He knew when he'd outstayed his welcome.

And yet, he couldn't help but notice the surprising tenderness with which Tom picked Harry up, seemingly uncaring of the mess on his face and arse and legs. Barty had never seen his eyes that warm, his mouth that soft, and watching the way Tom handled Harry—like he was Tom's prettiest treasure—made him feel stiff with shock.

Tom took Harry back to the couch in the corner, laying him down gently. He pressed into Harry soft and slow—slower than Barty had imagined Tom capable of, and then his attention was being demanded by Mr Riddle.

* * *

When he came back to himself, Harry had moved from the table to the couch and Tom was inside him instead of Mr Riddle, thrusting leisurely and slow into Harry's wet, sloppy hole. His face was wet and his throat sore, and when Harry reached up to touch his cheeks his fingers came away white and sticky.

Tom had let them fuck him while he was unconscious.

Something in his stomach burned at the thought, but instead of saying anything he lay back and looked up at Tom. He watched him lazily, losing himself in the feeling of Tom inside him, feeling him speed up rather than seeing it through his half-shut eyes. Tom thrust harder, faster, speeding up as if he'd been fucking Harry for a while now, just waiting for him to wake up so he could finish.

Hazily, he let his gaze fall to the side, and looked over at the other end of the room to find all five guests chatting and drinking tea like they hadn't just fucked his mouth. Like half of them hadn't just fucked his _unconscious_ mouth.

And yet, he wasn't actually upset. Instead, the idea of himself, limp and vulnerable as a doll, was somehow _attractive_. He thought he should be scared, but in the place where the fear should be he found only immeasurable trust. Tom Riddle would keep him safe, even if Harry couldn't do it himself.

And, despite himself, he had to admit that the idea of Tom using him however he pleased, letting _others_ use him as they pleased without even a glance from Harry to tell him no or yes was unbearably _hot_. Thinking about what might have happened, he couldn't help growing hard again.

"That's right," Tom told him, fucking into him like he belonged there, inside Harry. "You've been so good, so perfect. You've done everything we wanted exactly how we wanted it, like the good, obedient boy you are."

And Harry felt himself glowing at the praise. He'd done well, he'd pleased both Tom and Mr Riddle, and wasn't that all he'd set out to do today?

"Just a little longer," Tom grunted, and shifted his hips so he could fuck into Harry faster. "You're doing so well, darling."

He leaned down to press his forehead against Harry's, grabbing his hand and threading their fingers together. His mouth was red, no doubt from biting at it constantly, and Harry once again felt the sudden need to kiss Tom.

So he did. He pressed himself up into Tom's mouth and wrapped his arms around Tom's neck, and let Tom fuck him until he came inside Harry. Then he let Tom pull him up and onto his lap, their mouths still pressing together feverishly.

"Such a good boy," Tom murmured against his mouth, grasping at his erection. Harry held his wet, soiled skirt up so that Tom could stroke him harder, faster, and lost himself in the feeling of their mouths sliding together messily, of Tom's words of praise and the rising warmth of his orgasm.

When he came, his orgasm took with it the tension of his limbs, so that Harry collapsed bonelessly against Tom's shoulder. He felt faint, warm and relaxed and _exhausted_ in a way that was new to him. Tom let him press close, let him wrap arms around Tom's shoulders and legs around his waist despite the come all over him. His mouth moved against Tom's skin lazily, as if on autopilot, and just as he closed his eyes he felt Tom press a kiss into his hair.


	13. The Spice of Life

**The Spice of Life**

Words: 5,106

Pairings: Tom Riddle Sr/Harry Potter/Tom Riddle

Beta: EnjeruTantei

Warnings: None

* * *

It was a bright, beautiful day, and Harry had never wanted to run and hide his face more than he did right at this second.

He had walked past this particular block so many times he knew exactly how many steps it took to walk from one end to the other. It was getting concerning—he was getting strange looks, and yet Harry could not overcome the sense of shame that threatened to overflow and force him to retreat.

Objectively he knew there was nothing wrong with this—sex was a healthy, _normal_ part of life, and nothing to be ashamed of. But still, the irrational fear of being recognised and judged for stepping into a _sex shop_ of all places made him flush horribly, his eyes darting around the street for a familiar face.

It took him a few more turns about the block before he finally decided enough was enough. Squaring his shoulders, he neared the unobtrusive little shop with purpose, trying not to pay attention to the bold, loud lettering proclaiming the existence of the 'Come and Go' shop, and kept his head firmly lowered. He slid open the door quickly and stepped in, and then there was just the quiet, artificially lit shop.

There was nobody at the counter. Harry supposed they'd disappeared into the back, and thanked his lucky stars that there was nobody to receive him as he hurried behind one of the shelves. It took him a while to realise what was in front of him, and even longer to register how many different _types_ there were.

He was standing in the dildo aisle, and frankly, the size of some of these things made him shiver with an odd mixture of fear and, dare he say it, _curiosity_. There were regular dildos that just looked normal, rubber and straight with a vague head at the end. There were others too—one had balls attached, another was double-ended, and there was even one that had a thinner shaft alongside the regular dildo. Harry supposed that one was for people with vaginas. Most surprising, however, was that as Harry walked down the length of the aisle he realised some of the shapes didn't even look _human_.

There was one that caught his eye, and he couldn't help but pick up the unpackaged model to examine it. The toy was coloured bright purple, fading into green the further it got to the base, but what made Harry so interested was how absolutely _huge_ it was. Not only was it incredibly long, it was also so wide Harry couldn't get his hand all the way around its girth. He thought about what it might be like to use it with a strangely dangerous thrill in his stomach, and immediately put it down, shaking the thought of it out of his head quickly.

Except, it seemed, not soon enough.

Harry wondered, briefly, how he hadn't even noticed he wasn't alone, but when the stranger came closer he had other things to worry about.

"Riddle?" He asked, incredulous, then wished he'd kept his mouth shut and left. He stepped back, nervous, and Tom stepped forward, maintaining the same distance between them. There was a smug turn to his lips that Harry didn't like.

"That's a pretty sizable dildo you were looking at, Potter," he said. "Didn't peg you for that sort."

"What-" Harry tried to say, but Riddle didn't seem to be listening.

"Then again," he continued, "I suppose it is always the quiet ones who get up to the freakiest shit."

"What?" Harry repeated, this time louder. "I'm not—I would never— _that thing would tear me in half_!"

Riddle was quiet for a second. He looked over at the dildo Harry had been holding, looking back at Harry's face and then his crotch like he'd be able to see something just like that, and suddenly Harry felt very naked in his jeans and t-shirt.

"No, I think we could make it fit," Riddle mused airily. "All you'd need is a little... _help_."

He looked at Harry meaningfully, smirking in what he _had_ to think was a handsome manner. Harry wondered if this was Riddle's attempt at trying to flirt with him.

He let his gaze fall to Riddle's shirt, and then frowned at the black tag, bright pink text proclaiming his classmate's name. "Riddle," he asked slowly. "Do you work here?" It felt a little like a fever dream, if Harry was being honest.

But Riddle just nodded, apparently unconcerned with his current position. "Of course. I'm happy to assist in any way you might need." And he reached forward to grasp Harry's bicep, steering him further down the shelves.

"For example," he said. "For a newbie like you, I'd recommend something much smaller, like this." He pushed another dildo into Harry's hands, this one much smaller than the one Harry had been looking at, and much less... _monster-like_. He accepted the toy, understanding that this was probably more his level, and yet he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

Riddle laughed, almost as if he could read Harry's mind. "Oh don't worry, Potter," he murmured slyly. "We'll train you to take dick yet."

Harry shuddered. "I have no idea what you might mean," he said stubbornly, then looked back down at the toy in his hands. "Besides, I'm not even sure if this is what I want, so-"

"I see." Riddle frowned, but he didn't look upset. In fact, he looked excited. Harry didn't think it boded well for him.

"We wouldn't want to leave you disappointed, would we," Riddle was saying. "No, that wouldn't do at all, let's see." He grabbed onto Harry's arm and pulled him along, walking up and down the various shelves and picking up things at random, inspecting Harry carefully before adding it to the pile or discarding the item.

It continued until there were stranger and stranger things in Harry's arms, most of which he found himself unbearably curious about. There were dildos, Harry could tell, and what he was sure was a vibrator. Further than that, though, his mind went blank. The more ground they covered, the stranger the toys got, and Harry wasn't even sure where some of them would go, or even fit. He certainly wasn't well acquainted with the world of sex toys, but even so, he was astounded at the variety of things that were available.

When he was done, Riddle pulled him over to the front of the store. Harry couldn't help but feel particularly shameless, standing in an open space with things meant for sex piled high in his arms, but Riddle didn't even bat an eye. He reached for a door behind the counter and beckoned Harry in, waiting for him to enter first.

"After all," he said, "seems I've got something to prove to you."

"Prove something to me? What on earth do you mean?" Harry asked, but his attention was caught by the room he was led into.

It was a wide room—wider than he'd realised possible, with the look of the shop from the outside. There was a large, tall desk over to one side, an armchair behind it, and a black couch at the other end. Riddle made him put the things down on the desk, but when Harry tried to sit he delivered a firm swat to his behind.

"No, no, Harry," he admonished. "I can't possibly demonstrate these toys to you if you're _sitting_. Now," and he reached for the smaller, more average dildo he'd first recommended to Harry.

"Let's start with this."

Harry eyes widened, but before he could step away or say anything, Riddle was treading his fingers into Harry's hair and holding his head in place.

"You'll know where this goes, of course," Riddle said expectantly. Harry tried to nod, but when Riddle's hold didn't let him, he agreed verbally instead.

Riddle smiled. "Like I was telling you Harry, if you want to get to taking a large one you'll have to work your way up. Bend over."

He didn't realise what Riddle meant at first, and then it clicked. "Sorry, _what_?"

"Bend. Over," Riddle repeated. He let Harry's hair slide from between his fingers and stepped back, gesturing at the table before him. "I can't possibly demonstrate this to you if you're standing."

"I—I don't know—" Harry stammered, but Riddle just looked at him, unaffected.

"Exactly," he said, "you _don't_ know." And then, stepping closer, he pushed a finger under Harry's chin to tilt it up.

"I'll take care of you, Potter."

Riddle's lips were softer than his hands, which pushed into Harry's waist until he was sure there'd be bruises. It was over far too soon, and then Riddle was gesturing wordlessly at the desk again. He shouldn't want to, Harry thought, but despite the strangeness and spontaneous nature of the situation, he found he _wanted_ to obey.

And so he did.

He stepped over to the desk and, tentatively, bent over to rest his arms on the surface. Riddle came up beside him, rubbing his hand soothingly over Harry's back until some of the tension drained out of him, and he softened into the pose.

"That's it," Riddle murmured, reaching around him to undo his trousers. Harry fought to stay calm, but couldn't help but hyper-focus on every step Riddle made, in his every breath and touch. Riddle loosened his belt and then stroked his hand over Harry's clothed arse, his touch rough and warm and full of such _intent_ that it made Harry want to plead for him to hurry already.

But Riddle seemed to prefer taking his time. He rubbed at Harry's arse, pinching the flesh through his ratty jeans, and when Harry finally asked him to get on with it, he laughed and said, "I'm only trying to ease you into this, darling."

The pet name did something to him. Harry felt himself acquiescing, and though a part of him wanted to argue back and fight just for the sake of not obeying, the majority of him just felt so _good_ he couldn't focus on anything but the way Riddle's touch made him feel full of sunlight.

By the time Riddle finally pulled his jeans over his arse and off, Harry felt like a pile of melted goo. He didn't even care that Riddle was looking at his bare arse, didn't care that Riddles warm, long fingers were pushing teasingly at his hole—in fact, he could even say he was relieved. After all, Riddle _had_ promised to look after him.

"Take care to listen, Harry," Riddle said. Harry thought he rather liked this better than 'Potter', and made it known with an agreeable groan.

"I'm sure you've used lube before," Riddle said. As he did, he picked up a small bottle and uncapped it, pushing some out onto his fingers. He rubbed them together to warm it up, and when Harry didn't reply, pushed the tip of one slick finger just barely into Harry's arse.

Harry moaned, trying to angle his face to look at Riddle's face, but his vision had suddenly gone blurry, and Riddle was too tall like this anyway. He settled for looking at Riddle's bicep flexing under his sleeve, and pushed out onto Riddle's finger.

"I can take more," he managed, his voice much more hoarse than it had any right to be. Riddle chuckled, drizzling more lube on his arse and then pushing another finger in.

"Not completely new after all," he said, then leaned in closer so that his mouth was at Harry's ear. "But I'm going to take my time with you, Potter." His voice was full of dark promises, and Harry wanted nothing more than to extend time so they'd have time for all of it.

"Harry," he whispered instead.

"What?" Riddle asked. He pushed in a third finger, twisting them just _so_ and making Harry's knees feel so weak that he was grateful for the desk currently holding him up.

"Harry," he repeated, his fingers clenching uselessly into the wood. "Please, _more_."

Riddle pushed his fingers into Harry's hair again, pulling at it until he was forced to look into Riddle's eyes. "I can do that," he said, "as long as you call me Tom."

Riddle's grasp on his hair tightened the longer Harry remained silent, until eventually he twisted his fingers just _so_ , and Harry felt himself coming apart.

"Yes, yes, _please_ ," he gasped, and then whined loudly when Riddle removed his fingers. Not that it seemed to have any effect. Riddle merely picked up the dildo again, slicking it up and pressing it against Harry's open arse, where he paused.

"Please what?" he asked. The pressure against his hole increased, and just as Harry thought about pushing into it, Riddle's hand came down on the small of his back. He held him down, firm, and didn't budge when Harry looked up at him pleadingly.

"Please, Tom," he said eventually. "Please, just let me-" and he widened his stance, his arse tilting up invitingly. Riddle—or Tom, Harry should really call him Tom—laughed at that, amusement in his tone.

"Oh, I just love how desperate you are," he said, his voice so low that Harry wasn't even sure if it had been meant for his ears. But then Tom was pushing the fake cock into him, the pace so slow that Harry could feel the seconds stretching into eternity, and Harry couldn't even breathe right anymore.

He could feel every inch, the way the shape of the toy made his arse stretch, the slow feeling of being filled more, and more, until Harry felt he'd broken some record.

This was nothing compared to the fingers.

He'd never felt so full before, never felt the constant stimulation of something so big inside him. Fingers felt almost insignificant compared to this, he thought—much too thin to make him tremble like this.

And still, he looked at the large dildo he'd picked up so many minutes ago. It was ribbed, he thought, it's shape all twisty and varying in girth as it went down. It had a head, round and large, and though the cock inside him had one too, it didn't seem as... _significant_.

He'd never wanted to take something more.

Tom seemed to notice his preoccupation, because suddenly he pushed sharply with the dildo in and out once, then again, making Harry tremble. It felt so _good_ rubbing inside him, stretching him wide _just_ like that. His cock was hot and aching and as hard as a bloody rock, but all he could think about was the way Tom fucked the toy into him.

"I could probably make you come like this," Tom whispered. He'd bent low again, his forehead pushing against the side of Harry's head, but his hand never slowed. "All you'd need is a little touch, and maybe not even that."

Harry's eyes widened at the thought. He'd heard of that before, coming untouched, but he'd never even come close to trying it.

It felt, somehow, much more impossible than anything else Tom had promised him.

It didn't matter. Tom was pushing his hair aside, baring his nape so he could kiss and bite and then blow on the tender skin. He turned Harry's face the other way and bit at his jaw like he was hungry for him, and reached under Harry to pull on his cock.

It was just as Tom's had said. It only took once—one warm, firm stroke—and then Harry was coming all over the nice rug laid out under the table.

It seemed to go on forever. Tom let him finish, thrusting the toy in and out slowly until he felt completely wrung out and sensitive. When Harry felt his heartbeat slow, Tom pulled out the dildo, stroking his hair as he shuddered through the sensation and clenched around open air.

"Tired?" he asked gently. Harry nodded, pushing himself up on his elbows, and then watched as Tom smirked. He seemed positively _ravenous_ like this, unforgiving—Harry realised he'd counted himself safe far too quickly.

"I'm not done with you yet, darling," Tom said. Harry swallowed hard, trying to explain that he should get going, that this was highly irregular, or maybe even that this was a mistake. He and Tom had never gotten along, not in the five years they'd spent in classrooms together, and Harry wasn't in the business of sleeping with people he didn't intend on dating.

And yet, instead of all the perfectly acceptable reasons _not_ to stay, what came out was, "What's next?"

Tom's grin widened, and his teeth seemed abnormally sharp in the warm lighting. "Why Harry, we simply _have_ to test your limits."

He lifted his hand, and when Harry looked away from Tom's face he saw that he was holding a pair of fluffy blue handcuffs. Harry swallowed hard, but didn't protest when Tom shook them and let himself be handled into position easily.

Tom pushed him onto his back this time, laying him down so that his cock was within easy reach, and handcuffed his wrists together behind his back. Harry tested them, but they held steady no matter how much he pulled. Tom set a warm hand over his thigh, his fingers pressing into the meat, and picked up an object Harry didn't really recognise until Tom flicked a button at the base.

It was a vibrator.

It buzzed continuously in Tom's hand, the sound nearly negligible except for the silence in the room. Harry moaned before it had even touched him, his skin feeling too sensitive to handle, but Tom stepped between his legs and, without pause, pressed the toy into Harry's cock.

His reaction was immediate. He bucked sharply, not sure whether he wanted to push closer or get away—all he knew was that it was too much, too intense, too soon. He gasped, thrusting his hips up again, but then Tom pushed even closer and held his hips down until he could no longer move, only squirm under the onslaught.

And still, he didn't let up.

Harry moved from gasping to moaning, begging wordlessly for Tom to do something else, to let him come or let him rest, but it was too soon to get hard, and Harry could barely breathe. He felt his mind going numb—all he could think about was the vibrations against his cock, moving up and down but never lessening or easing.

He whined, his torso moving restlessly as he tried to free his hands, but it seemed as if Tom could not look away from his flushed cock. He pressed the vibrator harder into the flesh and, when Harry started moving too much, pressed hard into the centre of Harry's stomach.

It felt like he might pass out, the feeling was so intense. Harry felt frustrated, overwhelmed tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his breathing coming in shorter and shorter gasps until his vision felt like it might be fading at the edges, until-

The door swung open. Tom straightened immediately, his hand moving away, from Harry's cock, and the relief he felt was so incredible Harry felt his eyes becoming damp, and his limbs becoming limp. He took a long minute, easing himself back into breathing right, and then dared to look at the doorway to take note of the new arrival.

The man looked a lot like Tom—so much so, that for a second Harry wondered if Tom had a secret twin nobody knew about. But then his eyes seemed to adjust, and Harry noted the light stubble, the wrinkled skin at the edges of the man's eyes, the shorter hair. This man was older, carried himself with a confidence Tom didn't possess despite all of his arrogance.

He had to be Tom's father.

Harry wanted to feel embarrassed—he really did. Here he was, probably on the man's own desk, his legs spread wide and a huge pile of sex toys waiting next to his head. He ought to jump and hide under the table, and a part of Harry wanted to do exactly that, but his limbs felt so weighty and overwhelmed that he could barely find it in himself to twitch, much less move.

Instead, he looked at the man with lazy, wet eyes and watched him near with far too little regard. Tom's father didn't even seem to notice him—he strode close, his hand reaching out to grab Tom's wrist, and tsked loudly.

"I've taught you better than this, Tom," he said. He was so close, Harry thought distantly. Harry would just have to shift his leg to touch his knee to the man's waist.

Tom shook his hand out of his father's grasp irritably. "What are you doing here," he demanded instead of replying. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

The older man sighed, evidently exasperated. He turned to Harry, looking him up and down as if he might be just another toy to sell, and then looked back to the purple vibrator Tom still held in his hand.

"I saw what you were doing, just fine," Mr Riddle told his son. "That's an _anal_ vibrator—it's meant to go in his arse."

"I know where it's meant to go!" Tom exclaimed. "I was just playing with him-"

"If you wanted to stimulate his cock, we _have_ vibrating rings," Mr Riddle continued, speaking over him. "We even have those new ones, the ones you put over the head—"

Tom glared at the man. "If it does the job, I have no reason _not_ to do as I please," he interrupted. "Now _leave_."

Mr Riddle didn't even seem to notice what Tom had said. He placed a firm hand on Tom's shoulder, pushing him away and taking his place between Harry's legs. "Let me demonstrate," he said, and Harry wasn't even sure who he was addressing. Before he could say anything, Mr Riddle had pressed the vibrator into his arse in one smooth push and flipped it back on.

It was a different feeling altogether, Harry thought. It felt somehow less immediate, and yet nevertheless just as intense as it had been on his cock. Fortunately, it had been long enough that Harry could feel himself going hard. _Unfortunately_ , he didn't think it'd matter—if Tom was merciless, Mr Riddle seemed even more so.

He left the vibrator inside Harry, and moved back again so that he stood by Harry's side. "Go on then," he told Tom. "Please him properly."

But Tom didn't move. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at Harry, and then at the pile of toys next to him. "I think that I've done enough pleasing," he said slowly.

He reached out and grabbed Harry's hair, pulling him up until he sat. Harry moaned—he hadn't realised it might feel so good to have someone pulling his hair, but he found the sharp pull going straight to his cock. Tom reached for something behind him, and laid a fierce kiss on Harry's open mouth before fitting a ring between his lips.

It was large—large enough to make his jaw ache, but when he tried to bite down the metal pushed into the back of his teeth and kept his mouth wide. Tom fastened the straps behind his head and then moved back to survey him.

Harry felt his mouth going wet, and with the way both Riddles were looking at him, he wanted nothing more than to hide his face. But he couldn't, not with his hands bound behind his back, and Tom's hand keeping his head high, so all Harry could do was try and fail to keep the sounds in.

It was hard. The vibrator pushed deeper into him like this, and Harry could feel his orgasm building with the way it stimulated his arse so constantly. He couldn't keep the moans in like this, couldn't bite his lip or clench his teeth or muffle the noises, and the volume of his own cries made his skin flush a deep red.

Tom looked back at Mr Riddle—like he wanted approval but didn't want to admit it to himself. Mr Riddle was too busy looking at Harry, his eyes sharp and blazing all at once. He reached and cupped the back of Harry's neck, and without a word pushed him down until he lay back on his stomach—his arse hanging off one end of the table, and his mouth over the other.

"An excellent idea," Mr Riddle said, rather belatedly. Nobody seemed to care. He walked over to Harry's face, crouching down in front of him, and smiled kindly.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, as if they were talking about some exotic fruit and not a sex toy.

Harry shook his head. Behind him, Tom pressed a finger to the base of the vibrator, making him jerk and clench down on it.

Mr Riddle traced a finger around the edge of his lips, stretched wide and feeling all the more sensitive for it. "It's a ring gag," he said, then tapped his finger once over Harry's tongue. "And I'll show you what it's for in short order."

He stood up. Like this, Harry's face was level with his crotch, and when the man reached for his fly, Harry realised he didn't need Mr Riddle to explain anything to him after all.

Mr Riddle's cock was longer than the dildo, Harry thought. Perhaps that was just because it was going in his mouth as opposed to his arse, but Harry couldn't help but despair over it fitting inside him, even as he found himself salivating.

Mr Riddle stepped close, close enough that the head of his cock pressed into Harry's cheek, but he didn't push into Harry's mouth yet, and Harry took advantage of that.

He stuck his tongue out, as far as it would go, and licked at Mr Riddle's balls.

Above him, the man groaned and pushed closer. Harry did it again, and again—he couldn't do much else, of course, but Mr Riddle seemed eased with the effort anyway. He let Harry press his open mouth to the space just under his cock, let him lick at the head, and then—after long minutes of build-up, pressed the head of his cock into Harry's mouth.

Harry wanted to close his mouth around it, but he couldn't. He suddenly realised what power this toy gave to his partner—Harry could try all he'd like, but he couldn't suck Mr Riddle deeper or harder, couldn't do anything but take exactly what he was given when he was given it.

Harry groaned around Mr Riddle's cock, and at the other end of the table, Tom took hold of the vibrator to tug at it and twist it slowly, like he was easing it out of Harry's arse.

He took his time too, playing with Harry mercilessly until he felt like crying, and for a split second Harry wondered if this kind of thing was passed down from parent to child. He felt like he'd come any second now, but Tom seemed to sense how close he was and draw him back with a pinch here, a sharp slap there, keeping him at the edge for what seemed like forever.

Mr Riddle was pushing in and out, slowly, barely enough of his cock in Harry's mouth to fill it up, and Harry wished they'd _hurry up already_.

They didn't. Tom took his sweet time pulling the vibrator out of his arse, and when he finally pulled it free, he immediately pressed it to Harry's perineum. It made him jerk again, made Mr Riddle push his cock suddenly deeper into him, and just as the man managed to get the whole thing inside, Tom pushed his own cock up Harry's arse.

He felt like he was overcome. Mr Riddle was in his throat, so deep inside Harry he couldn't breathe, and everything narrowed in on the two men fucking him. He couldn't think about anything else except the way his throat swallowed around Mr Riddle's cock, the way that Tom was so deep inside him he was sure he'd never be able to forget it, even after he'd long since left. They started thrusting, Tom fast and Mr Riddle slow, and Harry felt himself feeling fainter and more dazed.

He let himself go limp, let Mr Riddle position his face how he liked and use it as he pleased. The man sped up, fucking into Harry's mouth hard, and Tom did the same. He wanted to come so badly, but at the same time his own orgasm just didn't seem like a priority anymore. Mr Riddle petted his hair and pulled at it in random intervals, and Harry found himself craving both.

Mr Riddle came first. He came in Harry's mouth and then stayed there until Tom was coming too. Tom thrust into Harry through his orgasm, fucking him until there was nothing left to give. When he was done he picked up the vibrator again—Harry heard him switch it back on, and pressed it once again to Harry's cock.

It took him seconds to come. Mr Riddle pulled out, and Harry's mouth felt so wet and messy that he was sure that he was drooling, but he couldn't bring himself to care or do anything about it. Instead, he let any remaining tension drain out of his bones along with his orgasm, and suddenly he felt incredibly exhausted.

Mr Riddle's hand petted his hair, and as soon as he undid the strap around Harry's head, he felt himself drifting off.

* * *

He woke up slowly, so warm and comfortable that it took him a second to realise his hands were bound above his head, and his legs spread apart. He pulled on the restraints, looking sleepily up at the material that tied him to the headboard, but he didn't quite realise what was happening until someone opened the door, and Harry felt himself wake up properly.

"Tom?" he gasped. Tom didn't answer, coming close and putting down a tray onto the bedside table next to him. When he moved back, Harry could tell that there were multiple objects on it—one which caught his attention in particular.

A long, thick caricature of a cock, ribbed and painted a hue that faded from the bright purple head to the deep green base. It looked like a monster's cock might, if monsters existed. It looked like it would break Harry in two.

He looked back at Tom, at Mr Riddle, who had come in to stand at the doorway silently.

Tom smirked. "I did promise that we could make it fit," he said.


End file.
